Freaky Flying: Summer Nights
by star.flash.17
Summary: Summary: Hagrid’s getting married! Desperate to keep his mind off Sirius, Best Man Harry seeks out Ginny to learn to dance. In return, he must teach her to ride…a broomstick. OotP canon,
1. No One Better

**Freaky Flying: Summer Nights   
**A fanfic by HiSpAnIc PaNiC  
  
Summary: Hagrid's getting married! Desperate to keep his mind off Sirius, Best Man Harry seeks out Ginny to learn to dance. In return, he must teach her to ride…a broomstick. 

OotP canon, HP/GW, RW/HG, RH/OM. A must-read!  


** _"Vare is JK Rowling?"_****_  
"No idea," said Ron mushily, looking up at Krum. "Lost her, have you?"_****_  
"Vell, if you see her, tell her I haff borrowed her characters."_**

–Ron Weasley, Viktor Krum; Chapter 23, Goblet of Fire.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, of course; the title was ripped off of _Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights_, which I've never seen but heard it was pretty good. The plot…well, it is mostly mine, I guess, and since I haven't seen the movie copy of its plot is purely coincidential. 

C H A P T E R O N E

"HARRY! Oh—oh, Harry!"  
"For Merlin's sake, Potter, WAKE UP!"  
"…eh?…urg, geroff guys…" Harry Potter mumbled to his two best friends, which had each seized a leg and were attempting to heave him from bed. He raised his arms to rub the sleep from his eyes, which proved to be a fatal mistake.   
"OUCH!" he cried, having fallen very hard onto the wooden floorboards of Grimmauld Place.   
"Sorry Harry," said Hermione meekly, hurriedly releasing his foot. Ron gave him a hand up. Hermione suddenly giggled. Harry stared at her.   
"Sorry," she said again, "but it's the most wonderful thing…" To Harry and Ron's great shock, Hermione began to bounce on the balls of her feet, chewing on a strand of her hair and smiling at random intervals. Harry rubbed his eyes of sleep and flopped back down on his bed.   
"So, enlighten me, Hermione. What is so wonderful that you and Ron had to nearly pry me from bed with the Jaws of Life?"  
Hermione looked fit to burst, but she took a deep breath and shouted, "HAGRID AND MAXIME ARE GETTING MARRIED!" Harry felt his jaw drop and heard a screech from just outside the door.   
"Merlin's beard! Hermione!"  
"Ginny!"  
"Can you—?"  
"—Believe it?"  
"I—"  
"—KNOW!"  
The two girls clasped hands and began to bounce around the room, shrieking.  
"Will you two _please_ find a container for your joy?" Ron bellowed, but to no avail. At this time, however, Hedwig swooped in with a letter in her beak.   
"Where have you been?" Harry asked her curiously, eyeing the envelope. "All the way at Hogwarts, eh?"  
"Say, Hedwig, you wouldn't happen to have a handsome owl friend back there, would you?" Ron added teasingly. She hooted in a dignified way and preened her feathers. Both boys laughed, but knew that if owls could blush, Hedwig would be doing so.   
Another excited, almost hysterical cry made its way upstairs.   
"Mum!" yelled Ginny. "She must have found out Hagrid's big news! C'mon, Hermione!" and they raced out of the room.   
Ron shook his head. "Mental, the pair of them. So, what's Hagrid got to say?"  
_ Dear Harry,  
Hope your summer is going well, and you're enjoying yourself. No doubt Ron and Hermione have told you the good news by now: I've asked Olympe—that's Madame Maxime to you—to marry me. And there's something else. You know every groom has that one mate that's always there for them and never let them down and stuff. I can't think of no one better than you to be Best Man at me wedding. All you have to do is give me the rings and dance once with the Maid of Honor. Her name's Christine, and she's Olympe's niece. Hope you'll accept!  
Cheers,  
Hagrid_  
Harry read through the letter twice and chuckled with pleasure.   
"He's asked me to be his Best Man."   
"That's…great," smirked Ron, biting his lip. He proceeded to burst out in peals of laughter.   
"What's up with you? You're acting loonier than Luna," he said, chortling.   
"Erm…well, Harry, it's just…it's just…" Ron looked ready to start cackling again, but restrained himself. "…you can't really dance…"   
Harry remembered the Yule Ball with a pang. Parvati had been leading, it was true. And, according to Hagrid's letter, he would have to dance with Madame Maxime's niece, Christine.   
"Hey, at least I _danced_ with my partner, I didn't sit around looking pretty and glaring—" he retorted. Before Ron could respond, Hermione came panting in.  
"They're—they're here! Hagrid and Maxime…downstairs…"  
"Excellent, save me the trouble of responding by owl," Harry said, grinning at Hedwig's sad little hoot. "Come on, pretty boy, let's give our congratulations."  
  
Down in the kitchen sat Molly Weasley, positively beaming at two gargantuan figures above her. "Oh, I'm all a dither, it would be a pleasure…"  
"Couldn' think o' no one better, Molly." Harry heard a gruff voice saying as he, Ron, and Hermione catapulted down the steps.   
"Hagrid and Maxime just asked Mum to plan their ceremony, since Maxime's mum is on holiday for a month," Ginny whispered before they could ask.  
Hagrid turned around and spotted the four of them, smiling.   
Ron stepped forward, stuck out his hand, and said "Congratulations, Hagrid…Mrs. Hagrid." Hagrid chuckled, shook hands, and pulled Ron towards him for a hug. Hermione and Ginny hugged Hagrid too, and kissed Madame Maxime on both cheeks, European style. Finally, Harry came forth, hugged Hagrid, and said "I would be honored to be your Best Man. Thanks, Hagrid."  
"Couldn' think o' no one better, Harry. No on' better."  
  
End of Chapter One

_REVIEEEWWWWWWWWWWW……  
HiPa loves you!_


	2. This Dancing Problem

**C H A P T E R T W O**  
  
The next few days flew by in a flurry. Mrs. Weasley was nearly beside herself with all the preparations, which Harry saw as a blessing in disguise: she was so preoccupied she didn't have time to worry about the business of the Order, or Fred and George blowing up the house (especially since they were at the shop so often), or the trivial problems of four hormonal teenagers.   
Leaning against the wall of Buckbeak's room, Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He looked around his and Ron's room and spotted an elaborate frame. Phineas' frame. Sirius' great-great grandfather.   
_Sirius._  
Ron and Hermione had made the effort to talk about him, but fell short, as Harry was incredibly unwilling. They had not brought up the matter since. Even so, Harry was finding it difficult to keep his mind on other things.   
Sometimes, when he was alone, he would pull out Sirius' old letters and let himself cry. Sometimes, but not so much anymore. He was learning, very slowly, to hide his emotions. Perhaps this wedding—this dancing problem—would be the distraction he was hoping for.  
Buckbeak gave a loud cry, nudging the bag in Harry's hand. "Yeah, you know what this is for, don't you?" he asked, laughing at the hippogriff's eagerness. He fed Buckbeak one rat at a time and mulled over who could give him—his stomach churned oddly—_dancing lessons_.   
Over the chomping of rat bones, Harry heard the light chuckle of Tonks down in the parlor. She had come to assist with the decorations. _Tonks!_ Harry thought, then slapped himself mentally. _No, she's much too busy with the Order, and more of an acquaintance anyway. So that rules out Mrs. Weasley, too. _  
Perhaps a man could teach him? Harry imagined himself trying to tango with Snape and nearly dropped his rat. _It **had** to be a girl. Hermione? _He imagined Hermione, a ruler in her hand, practically stabbing a very complicated footwork chart, and for some reason yelling, "Fourth position, Harry, not third!"   
_Maybe not. Ginny_? He frowned in thought. Could she dance? Neville wasn't exactly the most flattering partner.   
And as though replying to his musings, the faint pulsing of music threaded through the ceiling. Harry unceremoniously dumped the remaining rats at Buckbeak's claws and raced upstairs, following the noise to Ginny and Hermione's room. Ron was already there, hovering near the door with a confused look on his face.   
"What d'you reckon's going on in there?"  
Harry shrugged and opened the door just a crack. He and Ron peered inside.   
The furniture had been cleared to the sides of the room. Fred and George Weasley seemed to have set up some sort of music equipment—where they had gotten it, Harry could only guess. Said Fred, along with Hermione, were eagerly looking through stacks of old vinyl records. George and Ginny, however, were cutting a rug—literally. George split it down the middle with his wand and had Ginny roll up both ends against the wall.   
"We have a floor!" he cried jovially. Hermione frowned.   
"Oh, George, What's your mum going to say?"  
"Who says she's going to find out?" he replied. Hermione suddenly laughed. "Good point."  
"C'mon, Fred, give us something to dance to!" Ginny said, pouting up at him and strapping on a pair of heels.   
"I'm going, I'm going. Keep your shirt on," he muttered, stopping the needle and switching records. "For all our sakes."   
A bouncy sort of techno beat began to play. George stomped his left and right feet and extended his hand to Ginny.  
"Let us dance."   
George pulled his sister into the crook of his arm, released her, and spun her around. She grabbed Hermione out from behind the equipment and laced their fingers together. Ginny moved her left arm like a snake, causing Hermione's to do the same. It was as if an electric current was running through them. Hermione stared at her arm; she had never seen it wriggle in that fashion before. Intrigued, she copied what Ginny did with her right arm, and forced the current to travel back to Ginny.   
Meanwhile, Fred and George had begun breakdancing. Fred skidded across the floor with his knees, flopped onto his back like a fish, clutched his knees and twirled around wildly like some sort of shooting star. George's feet were off the ground in a handstand, and, using all the upper body strength he could muster, lowered his head to the floor, pushed off, and revolved on only his head. Ron gasped.  
Fred and George got up off the ground, seized Ginny and Hermione (respectively), and began to dance. Ginny fell right along with it, bobbing her head and shaking her hips. Hermione clutched George as if her life depended on it.   
"Hermy-wermy, you're much too tense," he said nonchalantly, as if he was used to having girls cling to him. _(surely not!)_ "Oy, Ronnie, come help her _relax_."   
Ron purpled slightly behind the door before pushing into the room, Harry at his heels.   
"How'd you know we were here?"  
"Please, you're talking to the masters of stealth. Skills beneath ours are _totally_ detectable. Now, encourage _this one_—" George continued, still dancing and nodding to Hermione, "—to loosen her claws."   
Ron flushed again and took a step forward.   
Harry, however, was watching Ginny and Fred.   
There was something in the way she moved, something he couldn't quite place his finger on, that intrigued him. Fred dipped Ginny backwards, chuckling appreciatively, "Can hardly keep up with ya, Gin!"   
Just as Ginny sprung back up like a jack-in-the-box and Ron convinced George to stop moving long enough to pry Hermione off him, the needle scratched the record with a surprised whine.   
Molly Weasley came out from behind the equipment, looking livid.   
"D'you have any idea what _time_ it is?" she asked, glaring at them all. Fred grinned. "Course we do, Mum! It's 11:45, in the p.m., the skies are a lovely clear navy, we're looking at some cloud cover later on in—"  
"Fredrick Weasley! Stop messing about! Tell me, what _is_ all this?"  
"It's the sound system, Mum! For Hagrid's wedding! We got it from Lee's uncle Max, he's a DJ or something or other, and it's really easy to run, look, even Dad can do it without breaking anything!"

Arthur Weasley leapt back away from the record player as though scalded. He averted his eyes from everyone and cleared his throat. "Erm, very interesting, these Muggle contraptions, aren't they?"  
"Arthur, darling, about time you got home!" gasped Molly, her husband approaching the needle precariously. He placed it in the groove and smiled as Molly recognized the song. Arthur took his wife's hand and kissed it. Molly put her free hand to her heart and said vaguely, "To…to bed, with all of you."  
They all tiptoed out and stood behind the door, watching the pair of them dance closely with blissful smiles on their face. "Awww," Hermione and Ginny crooned, while the rest of them rolled their eyes. However, when the couple's lips inched closer, an audible chorus of "Ewww"s filled the hallway.   
"To BED!" cried Molly, still caught in the moment.   
"It would help if you weren't in our room," muttered Ginny, but let Fred and George lead her downstairs for a bedtime snack. Hermione, having nowhere else to be, followed.   
"I think she's been permanently scarred, Hermione," said Ron as Harry stepped into their room and reached for his pajamas.   
It was not until he was lying in bed that he was able to identify what interested him about Ginny's persona as she dance. The look she had on her face, the one he craved to have himself:  
Freedom.   
  
A/n: well, there you are, chaps. This one's a _bit_ longer than the first chapter, but I think it wrote itself. Besides, _I_ thought it was pretty good. sigh but, alas, I can't review myself—that would be dumb. So, do me the favor, please! lol. REVIEW!  
  
HiSpAnIc PaNiC


	3. Escape

A/n: thank you to all that review! I'm glad you like the story and am open to suggestion!  
**small note- **in chapter two, the sentence "_He looked around his and Ron's room and spotted an elaborate frame" _is incorrect. Harry _is_ in Buckbeak's room, and looking at the hippogriff is what reminded him of Sirius, not the frame. Sorry I didn't catch this! -HiPa

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****

**C H A P T E R T H R E E**  
Once Ron was comfortably settled in bed, Harry began to fake a small coughing fit and excused himself for a glass of water. He crept, catlike, down the staircase and onto the first floor landing where Fred, George, Hermione, and Ginny's heavy footsteps shuffled cheerfully along. Harry pressed himself against the wall as the twins bade the girls goodnight.   
They Disapparated away just as Hermione opened the door to her and Ginny's room, balancing what seemed to be a thick chunk of chocolate cake. Moving swiftly as a shadow, Harry allowed Hermione to step over the threshold before grabbing Ginny by the wrist and pulling her into the darkness.  
He felt her tense beneath his grip—for one frightening second Harry thought she was about to scream.   
Nothing could be farther from the truth.   
Instead, Ginny sank her elbow brutally into Harry's stomach. He let out a large _whoosh_ of air, backed into the wall, and clutched his ribs.   
"Nice try, Fred, you—" Ginny halted in mid-sentence as she turned around and saw her attacker. Going Galleon-eyed and hands fluttering over her mouth, Ginny gave a kind of strangled whisper.  
"Oh bloody hell! Harry, I'm so sorry, I thought you were Fred!"  
"It's—it's okay," he said, massaging his abdomen. "I shouldn't have grabbed you like—like that, I just wanted to talk to you in pri—private…"  
Ginny walked to him in concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"  
"Yeah," he replied, attempting a smile that looked more like a grimace. "You can really pack one…"  
"I've learned to be on my guard, living around here…" Ginny trailed off, looking at a shaft of moonlight filtering through a high window. She sat down next to Harry, who had settled on the floor.   
"What did you want to talk about?" she asked. His stomach flip-flopped uneasily.   
"Oh, yeah. Listen, I was kinda hoping you could help me out," he rubbed the back of his neck. _Why_ was this so difficult?  
"Sure. What do you need?" she said softly.   
"This is gonna sound kind of odd, but, erm…you know Hagrid asked me to be his Best Man, and the job sort of requires me to be able to—well," he took a deep breath.   
"I need you to teach me how to dance," he finished in a rush.   
Ginny blinked at him. "_You_. Want _me_. To teach you…how to dance?"  
"Yeah." Harry watched her with nerves comparable to those near the Yule Ball.  
"But I can't dance!"  
His jaw dropped. "Ginny!" he said hoarsely. "Of course you can dance, I just saw you!"  
"That wasn't dancing!" argued Ginny. "I was just—"  
"That's not on," interrupted Harry. "I saw you. You know how to move, what goes where, which foot to stomp and which wrist to flick. But besides that, you know how to do the one thing I've been wanting to do since the night when S—we went to the Ministry."  
"What's that?" she asked, watching him closely.   
"You know how to lose yourself completely. It's like—" Harry struggled, searching for words. "It's like you've—you've bottled freedom or something. Like you can pull it out whenever you need to escape."  
"And you've been looking for an escape all this time." Ginny said. It was not a question, but a statement, a fact. "That was very poetic of you, by the way," she added on a laugh.   
Harry smiled. He was not usually good with words. "So, will you help me? In secret, I mean. I don't really want Fred and George coming in and try to teach me to waltz."  
"Okay," said Ginny in a final sort of way. Harry shifted his feet, ready to stand, but Ginny opened her mouth again. "But you have to do something for me in return."   
"Name it."  
"You have to help me practice for Quidditch tryouts. I'd ask Ron but there's this thing about family teaching you—it doesn't usually turn out for the best."  
"Sure," said Harry. "But where can we go?"  
Ginny frowned in concentration, looking very much like Ron in his times of thought. She stood up, cocked her head left and right as though looking for spies, and began to speak as if she and Harry were about to stage a jail break.  
"We make headquarters in The Room of the Hippogriff at twenty-three hundred hours, discuss options and make plan of attack.   
"But we _musn't be caught_. My creators will put me through extreme questioning, and their male offspring will find our arrangment amusing ."   
"Capture is not an option," agreed Harry, feeling like one of those secret agents in Aunt Petunia's romance movies. Ginny bit her smirking lip and gripped the front of Harry's pajamas.   
"There is one sacrifice you must make. Can you handle it?"  
Harry fought to keep a straight face. "Sir, yes sir!"  
She looked him square in the eye. "You must promise not to fall in love with me," she finished, shaking with silent laughter. Harry willed himself not to chortle. It would kill the moment.   
"It shall be done, General."   
"Good luck to you then, Mr. Potter," whispered Ginny, pointing up the staircase, a hysterical smile on her face as she fought to keep from laughing.   
Harry, a wide grin on his face, puffed out his chest, mock-saluted, and slinked away. He heard Ginny give a snort as she opened the door.   
Hermione was in bed, pretending to read a large book. Ginny looked around the room, still fit to burst into giggles.   
"Hermione!"  
"Wha?" came her muffled reply from behind leather and parchment.   
"What happened to the cake?"  
Hermione pulled the book away from her chocolate-smeared face and said, "Wha' cake?"   
Ginny fell onto her bed, doubled up laughing, and threw Hermione a napkin. "This is why it's important to _chew_ your food."

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Whoop, thurr it is! Hope it was at least an A-level in O.W.L standards. Did I pass the test? Let me know in a review, cuz things just started gettin good!  
  
Hurry! Before they come to take me awaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy………   
  
HiPa loves you!


	4. Can’ Let Yeh Leave Me Tonigh’

A/n: wonderful reviews, all!  Thanks so much for giving up a bit of your time to read and review my work.  Hope this next chapter is to your liking, because it all gets better from here!

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C H A P T E R  F O U R  
  
            It was _scorching_.  Harry realized this as soon as he woke up the next day; a wave of heat slapped him full in the face.  He sat up in bed to run his hands through his hair, only to feel droplets of sweat clinging to his fingers.  Ron walked by, shirtless and fanning himself with a piece of the _Daily_ _Prophet_.    
            "What's happened?" Harry asked.    
            "Dunno," said Ron, yawning, "but it's hotter than _blazes_…"  
            A fine sheen of sweat coated Harry's throat and neck, and firmly molded his shirt and back into one.  He tugged it off and reached for a piece of Ron's newspaper.    
            "Where'd you get this?  The funnies don't come out until Sunday."    
            "Ha ha," replied Ron, making a face.  "Hermione brought it over and told me to look on page six."  Harry flipped to the page and immediately spotted what he was looking for, Ron reading over his shoulder:  
  
                                                                        **Apparation Explanation**

_Three young men— Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle, were found attempting to Apparate without license.  It is said they were headed for the tiny island that quarters Azkaban, the wizard prison.  Rumor has it they would break out their fathers, Lucius Malfoy among them, in order to aid the Dark Lord.  
            Needless to say, had they succeeded, the three boys would have met with trained Ministry Hit Wizards.  They have each been fined heavily, and are denied permissions to test for their licenses until the end of their winter term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
            _  
            Ron let out a great whoop of laughter, seized the paper, and kissed it.  Harry smirked in pleasure.  Malfoy finally had gotten a taste of fame—but certainly not the way he would have preferred.  Just as the two boys were plotting the best way to confront Malfoy about it all—that is to say, how to make his life a living hell—Mrs. Weasley came in through the open door.    
            "Harry, dear, it seems part of the boiler…" she faltered off, her face flushing.  Harry quickly seized a button-up flannel shirt and threw it on.  
            "Sorry about that, Mrs. Weasley.  What were you saying about the boiler?"  
            "Remus would very much like it if you would assist him in patching it up," she finished, face and hair matching.    
            "Sure thing," Harry replied lazily, and walked down to the basement kitchen.  Lupin was in a plain white t-shirt and Muggle blue jeans, doubled over in the boiler piping.    
            "What can I do, Professor?"  Harry asked, coming over to him.  He peeked around Lupin's legs, looking for signs of Kreacher's den.  The house-elf had not been here when Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place, and he could only hope Dumbledore had something to do with it.    
            "Ah, Harry.  Good morning," greeted Lupin, disentangling himself. "As you can see, I'm not the best with home improvement. I've been fiddling with this…infernal contraption—" Lupin wiped his brow and stepped out of the way, "—for over half an hour.  If you could have a look and point me in the right direction…"    
            Harry poked his head every which way and took a good look.  It was like stepping into an oven.  After a minute or two Harry discovered that one of the pipes had disconnected from its fellows.  Retreating back into the lesser heat of the kitchen, Harry turned to Lupin, who had a glass of sweet lemonade in his hand.    
            Harry removed his shirt to mop the sweat from himself.  At that same time, Ginny Weasley was tiptoeing out of the kitchen, clutching a pitcher of the same lemonade.    
            Harry caught her eye, and she nearly dropped the pitcher.  He nearly dropped his shirt.  Ginny was dressed in a very skimpy but tasteful sort of way, to ward off the heat as much as possible.  Every curve of her slender figure was clearly defined beneath the fabric.  The messy bun near the base of her neck drew attention to the beads of sweat on her shoulders.  Ginny blinked in a rapid sort of way and quickly made pace out of the kitchen.    
            "Have some lemonade, Harry," offered Lupin, smiling more than the temperature permitted.  Harry sat down next to him and grasped the drink in front of him.  "What's the verdict, then?"  
            "One of the pipes is disconnected from the others.  I suggest a Sealing Charm, and even a Bonding Charm, if there is one."    
            "Of course," Lupin nodded.  He drained his glass and headed back to the boiler.  "There's the little bugger," he said cheerfully.  A few well-chosen words and wand waves later, Lupin proclaimed the job complete.    
            "Thanks very much, Harry."    
            "Erm, Professor…" Harry began; already the temperature was returning to a comfortable level, "Can you tell me how people pass their Apparition tests?  I know there's a testing site down at the Ministry, but—"  
            "It's quite simple, really," Lupin explained.  "You have to study for it, and usually it's best if you have a personal trainer.  They teach you the rules and regulations and how to control it.  Needless to say, Draco Malfoy should have remembered that." He grinned a bit.    
            Harry was suddenly struck by a very brilliant idea.  "D'you think I can start preparing for it now? I mean, I'm only about to be sixteen."    
            "I don't see why not.  It's never too early to learn."    
            "Could you teach me?  Or do you know someone who could?"  Harry knew Lupin was quite busy with the Order, and was hoping he would suggest another teacher—preferably one who was still at Hogwarts.    
            "Well, you know my schedule around here is rather demanding, but I believe Professor McGonagall is a certified trainer.  She's currently preparing for the start of term at Hogwarts next year, because after these next few weeks she will also be short on time.  I could ask her for you, if you like."   
            "Yeah, that'd be great!" Harry replied.  Lupin eyed him closely.  "This isn't just about Apparation, is it?" Harry looked at the floor.    
            "Come on, out with it.  Why are you so keen to go back to school?"   
            Harry found himself telling Lupin everything:  how being Best Man to Hagrid required dancing ability, how he had struck up a deal with Ginny in secret, and how they needed to find a place to practice to avoid being found out.    
            Lupin marveled inwardly at the scheme Harry had devised.  The fact that he was stuck in Grimmauld Place, moreover, without Sirius, motivated Lupin more.    
            "Tell you what.  I'll run you and Ginny's cover stories by McGonagall, and send you an owl by next week to see if she buys it."  He looked down at his watch and sighed.  "But now I have to go meet with Severus.  How time flies when one is hatching lies, eh?"  Harry laughed and shook Lupin's hand.  The man Disapparated with a quiet _pop_.    
 ---  
            A few hours later, Hagrid and Maxime dropped by to make a few critical wedding decisions with Mrs. Weasley.  With topics such as the amount of frilling on Maxime's dress and the exact sculpting of the ice-hippogriff's beak, Hagrid sought shelter in Ron and Harry's room.    
            But even there he could not escape the wedding talk.    
            "Oh, Hagrid, please!  Tell us how it happened," begged Hermione.  She seemed to be having another streak of girly-ness.    
            "Please!" chimed Ginny, pouting up at him.  Ron and Harry rolled their eyes.    
            "Just tell them so they'll shut up already," Harry demanded, grinning a bit.  Truth be told, he was rather curious on how one proposes to a woman.    
            "Fine, fine, I'll tell yeh," Hagrid grunted, pretending to look cross but enjoying the attention.  "Well, I knew I fancied her first time I saw 'er.  She was bloody beaut'ful.  Even when we weren' speakin' I couldn' deny she was stunnin'.   
            "I think she felt more warmly towards me when we got together doin' Order business durin' the summer.  There was summat about 'er that changed durin' that time, and after we split I knew I couldn' be without 'er.  So I owled her, asked if she'd like ter meet up again after term, and we agreed to meet in 'Ogsmeade.  That night's when I asked 'er.  
            He took a breath.  Hermione and Ginny looked whisked away by his story.    
            "Got down on me knee in a private room o' the Three Broomsticks an' said 'Olympe, you're the most beaut'ful woman I've e'er had the honor ter be with.  I know I don' 'ave much ter offer yeh, but I gotta take me chances, because I know I just can' let yeh leave me tonigh'.  Will yeh marry me?"    
            "Awww," sighed the two girls happily, tears brimming.  Even Ron looked a bit misty-eyed.    
            "It was totally on the spur o' the momen'.  Didn' have a ring or nothin'.  But she said yes anyway.  Jus' bent right down an' kissed me…" Hagrid finished in a reminiscing tone.    
            "That's great, Hagrid.  I'm really happy for you."  Harry said wholeheartedly.  "But why are you doing it so soon?  Don't most people wait at least six months?"    
            "Yeah, well, we're not most people, ar' we?" Hagrid replied, smiling.  "Nah, me an' Olympe, we just wanted a simple ceremony.  Besides, there's a lot o' stuff goin' on, an' we don' wanna be takin' up too much o' people's time."    
            There was a small silence as the five of them reflected on the upcoming war.    
            "Oh, Hermione, been meanin' to ask yeh.  Seems one o' Olympe's Muggle relatives 'as broken 'er leg, an' as she can't dance in a cast, she can't be one o' the bridesmaids.  So Olympe was wonderin' if yeh'd be int'rested in takin' 'er place."    
            "Oh, Hagrid!  I would love to!" cried Hermione excitedly.    
            "Great!  Jus' find yerself a partner an' we're all set."    
            "Oh, 'Agrid!" interjected a French-accented voice.    
            "Got ter go!  Good ter see yeh all," Hagrid said, giving a wave as he practically flew down the staircase.    
            "It's odd to see Hagrid in love, isn't it?" Ron asked.  Hermione smirked and stood up.  "I'm surprised you've caught on."    
            "What's that supposed to mean, eh?" Ron said obnoxiously.  His eyes widened.  "You don't think I know about love, do you?"    
            "Of course you don't!" Hermione replied bluntly.  She made way to the door.    
            "Now listen here, Hermione, I know about love…" Ron's voice faded away as he followed Hermione down the hallway.  Ginny giggled.    
            "Do you think those two will ever figure it out?"   
            "Figure what out?" Harry asked, flummoxed.  He shook off the question.    
            "Hey, Ginny, guess what.  We don't need to meet tonight after all.  I think I've got our plan all worked out…"

* * *

A/n:  yes, yes, a very long chapter.  But don't tell me you didn't love it!  Hope I didn't butcher Hagrid's accent too much, and I really dunno squat about boilers.  Oh, and don't worry, Ginny's not going to die like that girl on "A Walk to Remember".  I love her too much!  cuddles Ginny plush doll    
  
Review b/c HiPa loves you!_  
      _  
  
__


	5. See You Soon

A/n: WOW! Chapter FIVE! This may be the first story I ever finish, thanks to the awesome reviews. It's not going to end for a while, though, I promise you. By the way, I am currently looking for a beta-reader to edit my stories for Fiction Alley. If _anyone_ could help me out, please drop me a line:   
dragonprincess1788hotmail.com   
  
Now, to answer some questions from my reviewers:   
**fan**- I promise, we get to the dancing soon! (I've been practicing what moves Ginny's going to do in front of my mirror. lol.)   
**Alaskenchick**- I don't think Maxime got mad at Hagrid, she just wasn't able to cope with Grawp. Good question.  
**Adora aka Ginny Drama**-Ginny's not sick, I promise!  
**terggirl99**-hey, that's a good idea. Poor short Harry, indeed. -evil grin-   
**koonelli**-this story is set in the summer before Harry starts 6th year.  
**Avoir**-you would think so, wouldn't you? I gave it to Harry b/c Sirius was best man at James' wedding and it's a neat way for Harry to honor him…and b/c Dumblydore already has a certain role in the wedding…heheheh.  
  
Special thanx to the wonderful **JamieBell, Nightwing 509, Carmel March **(love ur name!)**, **and** cherryblossom08** for constantly reviewing!  
  
On with the story, then!

* * *

**C H A P T E R F I V E**   
  
A very flustered-looking owl shot down the chimney during Harry's solitary breakfast exactly ten days after Lupin's promise. The owl immediately dropped its letter near Harry's orange juice and fluttered back into the air, obviously looking for something.

Chewing morosely, as one often would with a distraught barn owl flapping over their head, Harry was quite surprised to see a flash of snowy-white enter the room. The barn owl gave a great hoot of pleasure and crashed into Hedwig with ecstasy.

Not at all keen to be in a room with two lovesick birds, said owner of Hedwig placed his dishes in the sink, picked up his letter, and sauntered into the parlor. Hermione and Mrs. Weasley barely acknowledged his presence; they were too busy pinning Hermione's dress for the wedding. Harry settled into a chair and read

_To Mr. Harry Potter:  
I have received you and Ms. Ginerva Weasley's requests regarding a short stay at Hogwarts. After careful consideration, the Headmaster and myself have agreed to approve them. You will both arrive by Portkey on July 29, which will be organized by Remus Lupin, and stay until August 10._

_ Due to the lack of staff members and the nature of your requests, you and Ms. Weasley are confined to the Quidditch Pitch, Gryffindor Tower, the kitchens, my classroom, and the Headmaster's office. Other "roaming privileges" may be granted upon request. More instructions will be given at the time of your arrival.  
Trusting you will pass the message to Ms. Weasley, and looking forward to seeing you soon,  
  
Professor M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress_

There was a large, happy bubble inside Harry as he folded his letter closed. It had worked; they were going. 

"Oh, Hermione!" sighed Ginny, entering the room casually but letting her eyes flick to Harry. And he was visited by a strange thought: Ginny knew she was supposed to be here. "You look beautiful!"  
Hermione hopped off the stool she had been standing on and gave a little twirl.   
"Don't you just love the color?" she asked.   
"It's lovely," replied Ginny adoringly, marking the page in her book with a finger and plucking at Hermione's crimson sleeve. "Go Gryffindor!"   
"Why don't you go fetch your shoes, Hermione, and we'll see if the length works?" Mrs. Weasley said through a mouthful of pins. Hermione picked up the skirt of the dress and trotted away.   
"Goodness! My _pie_!" Off scurried Mrs. Weasley.   
Harry yawned, stretched, and got up from his armchair. "Well, I need to go get that Transfiguration essay done, or McGonagall will have my head." And brushing his arm ever so slightly against hers, he slipped the letter into her book.

---

"Twelve!"   
"Thirteen!"   
"Fourteen!"   
"Fifteen!"   
"SIXTEEN!"   
"And one to grow on," smirked Ginny, pummeling Harry in the head once more—with a pillow, of course. She, Fred, George, Ron, and Hermione decided to attack him as an early birthday present, considering he would be at Hogwarts on the 31st.

"It's going to be lonely without you and Ginny, Harry," Hermione said kindly.   
"Thirteen days at Luna's…What was I thinking?" Ginny groaned, giving Harry a small wink.  
"Horrible, that you have to be with McGonagall during the holiday," sympathized Ron sadly.   
"But it _is_ for a good cause, Ron. The sooner he can Apparate, the better. It might come in handy during…" Hermione's voice faded away, aberrantly unsure.   
"Mum's throwing you a party tonight, so we'll still get to eat cake and do presents and stuff," said Fred quickly.

George sniggered. "If you were us and we were you, we'd be careful about what we're bringing for us…" he broke off, confused.  
Fred slapped his forehead. "Sit down before you hurt yourself," he said seriously, leading George to a chair. "What George means is be wary of a gift from two joke shop owners."   
And they Disapparated without further ado.

"We've got to be going, too," Ginny stated, nudging Ron and Hermione. "Come one, both of you."   
"See you soon, Harry."

---

Several hours later, Harry found himself in the basement kitchen, people mingling about much like last summer's celebration of Ron and Hermione as Prefects.

Mrs. Weasley certainly had made an effort to make the dreary room festive. There were gold and green streamers adorning the ceiling, balloons of every color, sweets and drinks piled attractively on a long table, and, right in the center, a large chocolate cake coated in green icing—_Happy 16th Birthday, Harry!_ written in gold.

The dining table was nowhere in sight. Instead, several mismatched chairs and tables were scattered among one half of the room; the other was space for a makeshift dance floor. Fred and George were manning the music equipment, and many people were dancing.

Hagrid and Maxime were moving cautiously but stylishly, clearly enjoying themselves; Professor McGonagall was hand-jiving with none other than whom Harry called his guest of honor:

Professor Severus Snape.

He was here by force, naturally, and upon speaking to Harry informed him McGonagall and Dumbledore had wrangled him here with promises of food. Harry was merely the reason the food was prepared.

Tonks and Lupin were two-stepping; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley dancing so energetically there was no doubt in anyone's mind where Fred had gotten his moves for the Yule Ball two years ago; Dumbledore, who could only stay for a short while, was pirouetting Hermione.

Harry, however, was on a couch between Ron and Ginny, butterbeer clutched in each of their hands, cracking up at a joke Ron had just told. Their laughter was helped along by the small touch of firewhiskey George had trickled in their drinks.

Just _one_ drop!

"…So, anyway, I says to Malfoy, says I… 'bugger off...ferret boy!" The three of them burst out into such raucous peals of laughter that Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Emmeline Vance, Elphias Dodge, Mundungus Fletcher, and Bill Weasley looked up from their poker game in shock.

Fred took this small opportunity to slip his siblings and the birthday boy a Drunkenness Drainer, one of his more practical Wheezes.

"Ooh, look! Candy!" cried Fred excitedly.   
"Where?" asked Harry, Ginny, and Ron. Halfway through their question, Fred shoved the sweets in their open mouths.

The three of them stayed happily sober from then on. Fred, though, was having to pay for his brother's prank with Ginny on the dance floor, which Harry and Ron tactfully avoided.

That is, until Hermione came over.

"Dumbledore's just left, he told me to tell you, Harry. He hopes you enjoy his present," she said, wriggling onto the couch.

"So…" she trailed off, not looking at them. "I'm left without a partner…"

Harry, still feeling a little, shall we say, _tipsy_ (or brave, your choice), was about to comment on the odd way Ron was evading eye contact with Hermione when Mrs. Weasley bustled over.

"Harry, dear, it's time to cut the cake!"

Harry stood up and followed Mrs. Weasley to his cake, where sixteen candles burned elegantly. The crowd of people was slowly making its way to the table as well, and when everyone was settled, Mr. Weasley counted off.

"One, two, three!"

In unison, one and all began to sing:

_"Happy Birthday to you,  
Happy Birthday to you,  
Happy Birthday, dear Harry…  
Happy Birthday to you!" _

"Make a wish, Harry," someone whispered in his ear as clapping and cheers filled the room. But there was no one behind him. Harry had the funny that voice belonged to none other than…than _Sirius_.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and thought, _I wish for something that will make all this—the war, the pain—a little bit easier.   
_ Harry blew out the candles, feeling happier than he had in a long time.

Mrs. Weasley smiled, cut him the first piece of cake, and allowed him to return to his seat. On his way back for seconds, Lupin tapped him on the shoulder.

"Your Portkey is ready. I've had your belongings sent to Hogwarts. Let's go."   
Hermione and Ron toddled over, cake in hand, Ginny close behind.

"On your way, then?" Hermione questioned, lifting a hand to her mouth to stop cake from tumbling out. Ron sighed and threw a napkin at her. He put down his plate and gave Harry a very manly sort of hug with a clap on the back.   
"See you soon, mate. Good luck."  
Hermione hugged him, too. "Work hard, Harry."   
Ginny embraced him as well, standing on her tiptoes. "See you soon," she murmured in his ear.  
"Bye, you guys," Harry called over his shoulder.

After saying his farewells to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Harry followed Lupin into the hallway. He grasped the Portkey Remus offered (a silver frying pan), and, with a stomach churning full of cake, felt himself being wrenched away into a different world.

* * *

A/n: all you fans owe thanx to **JamieBell** for her suggestion that I double space paragraphs. I'm _sure_ she would adore it if you left your kind words with me in form of a _review_.

You know the H/G action is about to skyrocket…do you really want me to drop this project? HiPa loves you! (specially cuz she missed _Sex and the City_ to write this…)


	6. Sun, Moon, and Stars

C H A P T E R S I X

Harry fell to earth with a thud, stomach still churning and flat on the ground of what turned out to be the Gryffindor common room . He staggered over to the best sofa before the fire and sank into it.

Just as Harry began to wonder what he was supposed to do, Ginny emerged from thin air. Naturally, she toppled over from the impact; Harry extended his hand to help her up. Ginny brushed off her jeans and joined him on the couch.

"So…what are we supposed to do?" Ginny asked after a few minutes of awkward stillness. Harry shrugged. "Wait for McGonagall, I guess."

And as though Harry had demanded her presence, McGonagall appeared next to the couch.

"Well, good to see you are both in one piece," she said by way of greeting. "I expect you are awaiting instruction."   
They nodded.  
"Tomorrow morning, Potter, you will report to my classroom at eleven o' clock for training. We will break for lunch at two, begin again at three, and work until five. This schedule will continue for your entire stay, excluding weekends.

"As for you, Ms. Weasley," McGonagall continued, turning to her, "You will have to earn your keep around here as well. Tomorrow you will join Potter in my room to do some organizing—filing and such. You will be assigned to other teachers at their request, and work through the same hours as Potter."

She suddenly smiled. "There's no need to look so grim. It _is_ still summer holiday after all. Good night to you both."

Right before exiting through the portrait hole, McGonagall turned around. "Oh, and, do control yourselves. If there's any…any hanky-panky or…or _anything_ of the sort, I will know about it."

The portrait snapped closed, leaving a very embarrassing silence in the professor's wake.

Then Ginny burst out laughing.

"She thinks…me…and—and…_you_! Like you would—would ever fancy…_me_!"   
"Why is that so impossible?" Harry asked. He shut his mouth instantly. _Why did I say that? It sounds like I fancy her._

Ginny became very quiet, too.   
Harry cleared his throat and tried again. "What I mean to say is, there's nothing wrong with you—no reason why I couldn't fancy you."   
She raised an eyebrow. "But you _don't_…right?"   
"Not that I know of," Harry answered truthfully.   
Ginny laughed softly. "Goodnight, Harry," she called, traipsing upstairs to the girls' dormitories.

Harry retreated upstairs as well, and, for the second time this month, settled into bed thinking about Ginny.

---

Harsh firelight toyed with the planes of Ginny's cheek as she flicked a page in her book, absorbed in the story. A grandfather clock in the corner of the common room chimed two in the morning, but she paid it no mind. Yet Harry wondered why he had awoken so abruptly from his sleep—it was almost as if he was supposed to be sitting here, now, on the banister of the boys' staircase, watching her.

He silently slid the length of the banister and snuck up behind her. As she made to turn the page again, Harry thrust his hand into her book.

"Interesting read?" he whispered.   
Ginny started so roughly she nearly looked electrocuted.  
"Harry Potter, you bloody idiot!"  
He snorted off her insult and settled at the end of the couch.   
"No, really. What is it?" He reached out and tipped back the cover, where a man and woman were embracing passionately.   
"An American _romance_ novel?" he asked, chortling.   
"Don't laugh," insisted Ginny, looking at him over the cover and reminding Harry greatly of Hermione. "It's actually pretty good!"

Harry thought back to a passage he had read from one of Aunt Petunia's novels when he was ten, simply because he was curious. The memory still made him shudder.

"Don't they say stuff like," he put on a theatrical voice, " 'Oh, Felipe! You are my sun, moon, and stars. You are more important than the air I breathe!' "   
"No!" Ginny cried defensively. "Not all of them, anyway…look, I'll prove it to you."   
Harry sniggered. "How?"   
"I'll read the part of Scarletta, the preppy British lawyer. You can be Hector, Scarletta's mother-in-law's cousin's exotic pool cleaner."  
"Erm…okay," agreed Harry warily, scooting closer to the book. _What_ had he gotten himself into?

Ginny cleared her throat and began:   
" '_It was dark and stormy on the night before he was to be smuggled across the border. Scarletta adjusted herself on the bed and handed Hector a glass of champagne._

Here Ginny made her voice sultrier, looking straight at Harry as she said her lines. _   
" 'I'm going to miss you, Hector,' said the ex-uptight lawyer. 'You made me beautiful, and ex-uptight.'   
" 'Hector reached across Scarletta's lap to refill his glass… _Harry, that's you!"  
"Huh? Oh, right!" Harry cleared his own throat and spoke in a deep voice.   
_" 'And I you, Scarletta,' replied the poor pool cleaner. 'You love me, even though I am a poor pool cleaner who was once addicted to crack'…_what the bloody hell is crack?"  
"I dunno. _'Scarletta grasped Hector's arm, which was still atop her lap, and pulled him closer. 'Your arm is atop my lap, Hector. Do you know what that means in Russia?'"  
" 'No, Scarletta.'"  
" ' Well, neither do I, but I know what I want it to mean.' Scarletta unbuttoned her blazer and slid down her skirt, revealing a red brazier and panties."  
_Ginny, without thinking, fiddled with the topmost button of her pajamas.   
_" 'As she shook her red hair down from its messy bun and watched him through dark chocolate eyes, Hector ran his fingers along her slender thigh, leaving trails of fire.'"  
_Harry never noticed his fingers creeping towards her leg, curled up next to her on the couch.   
_" 'Hector, your fingers leave trails of fire'."   
" 'Scarletta, your eyes are like drizzles of dark chocolate'," _Harry read, looking Ginny square in the eyes.   
_" 'Oh, Hector!'_ Ginny whispered, caught up in the moment. Harry felt his throat tighten. _'I want you to take me! Take me now! Take me'—_to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes?! Oh, bloody hell!" sighed Ginny, staring at the page with displeasure.   
"What?" Harry asked, coming out of his trance. "What happened?"  
"Fred and George got in my book and changed the sentences! Those dolts!" She giggled in spite of herself. Harry joined her.   
"Too bad. Things were just starting to get steamy."   
She walloped him in the back of the head with the novel and stood up. "_Goodnight_, Hector."  
"Goodnight, goodnight, my darling Scarletta! You are my sun, moon, and stars!" Harry trilled, galloping back upstairs and laughing to himself.

Harry may have dropped off as soon as his head hit the pillow, but Ginny took her wand and removed Fred and George's trick from her book before blowing out her candle.

She wouldn't need it anymore, that candle—after all, she _was_ the sun, moon, and stars.

* * *

A/n: I have never read or written a romance novel, and if any of you have, please keep in mind that my mockery was all in good fun. I wrote those passages badly with purpose…just ask Fred and George.

Review b/c HiPa loves you!!!  
_  
_


	7. Beginning to Fly

A/n: thanx for the reviews! Here's another installment of double F!

* * *

C H A P T E R S E V E N  
  
"Harry Potter, sir!"  
A squeaky voice cried at the foot of Harry's bed the next morning. Dobby the House-Elf was standing there with a towel draped over his arm.   
"Hi, Dobby," greeted Harry, sitting up. "What are you doing here?"  
"Dobby has come to help Harry Potter during his stay at Hogwarts, sir. Harry Potter's breakfast is waiting downstairs."   
"Thanks very much," Harry said, taking the towel Dobby handed him and heading for the lavatory.

**---**

After grooming himself to meet the day's challenges, Harry trudged into the common room. Ginny was already there, tucking into a plate of bacon and eggs. She greeted him with a small smile and motioned to the platter across from her. They ate in silence.

At five minutes 'til eleven, Dobby and Winky appeared to take their plates. Ginny seized her purse and followed Harry out of the portrait hole.

He was walking in a very determined sort of way. McGonagall was a very demanding professor, and Harry was going to give this Apparation training everything he had; Ginny could see it in the way his arms swayed, the way he held his head.

McGonagall was waiting at her doorway, examining her watch.

"Right on time, Potter,"   
"Good morning, Professor," he replied, striding to the center of the classroom. All the desks had been cleared away, except for McGonagall's. Ginny took her seat behind the desk and folded her hands neatly upon it.   
"Ah, yes, Ms. Weasley," said Professor McGonagall, turning around to face her. "I am asking that you organize these papers into their respective folders, alphabetically and by student year. They shall be filed into this cabinet," she concluded, pointing to a filing cabinet against the back wall. Ginny nodded her understanding, opened her purse, and retrieved a pair of black-framed reading glasses.   
The professor turned back to Harry.   
"Ready, are you?"  
"Yes, Professor."   
"Very well." Professor McGonagall drew out her wand and conjured two chairs from thin air.   
"Have a seat, Potter."   
Harry sat.   
"The first thing you must understand about Apparition is that it is not to be taken lightly. Learn a lesson from Draco Malfoy; he was fined nearly sixty-five Galleons, and those two dim-witted cronies of his, Crabbe and Goyle, ran a serious splinching risk." McGonagall's nostrils flared as she took a deep breath. Harry saw Ginny smirking over her shoulder.  
"Nevertheless…Now, we are going to begin with one of the basics of Apparition. It is most important that you are relaxed. Those too tense beforehand are more apt to end up in the wrong place…"

---

The first day of instruction had been easy enough, but Harry had a sinking feeling that it was bound to get harder once he mastered the basics. He mulled over this while walking down to the Quidditch pitch with Ginny, broomsticks and chest in hand.   
He led her to the middle of the field, kicked open the chest, and pulled out the Quaffle.   
"What exactly am I supposed to show you?" he asked.  
"Well," replied Ginny slowly, "you've been on the team for five years now; there have got to be some tactics you can teach me."   
"Right," said Harry, thinking back to Oliver Wood's many writhing diagrams. "I guess we can start with basic swerving."

They both kicked roughly off the ground and hovered about ten feet in the air.   
"Now, there's a certain way you want the tail end of your broom to move when you swerve. If you do it right it'll give you a small burst of speed." He demonstrated the movement and had her copy it. She did so perfectly.   
As the sun began to set and they flew around the pitch, Professor McGonagall looked out of her classroom window. She thought of what Albus Dumbledore would say if he were here:   
_"They are beginning to fly."_

---

After the sun had really fallen, Harry and Ginny retreated to the common room, windswept and pink-cheeked. Harry sank down into an armchair as Ginny climbed upstairs. She returned with several records, a player, and a clump of blackish material tucked under her arm. Setting all these items on the nearest table, Ginny wheedled Harry out of his seat.   
She was now dressed in a pair of tight denim shorts and a white tee-shirt, her hair still in a ponytail from Quidditch practice. Harry looked down at himself, lifted one foot onto the chair, and began to roll up the cuffs of his jeans.   
"You don't need to do that," Ginny said, laughing gently.   
"Why not? I'll trip on them otherwise," Harry replied rationally.   
"I know, but the thing is, you can't see much movement in jeans," and she brandished the black clump at him.   
"You're not going to change into that here?" he asked, eyeing the material as it unfolded itself and fell into the shape of a skirt.  
"Of course not!" cried Ginny, scandalized.

"_You_ are going upstairs to put this on."

* * *

a/n: omg Ginny. You evil woman! And yes, I know I am evil as well for ending this chappie on a cliffie, but it builds up suspense, you see, and encourages people to review!   
Muchas Gracias!  
HiPa loves you!


	8. Dance Like Nobody's Watching

A/n: sorry I haven't updated in awhile. I hit a sort of writer's block with this chapter…

* * *

** C H A P T E R E I G H T  
** "Erm…_what?_" Harry asked, utterly bemused.   
"You heard me," Ginny said.  
"No, I did, I'm not denying it," Harry continued, "I'm just _positive_ I heard the wrong thing."  
"Get out of it, Potter," she snapped, tossing the skirt at his head. "Go on and change."   
Harry stayed resolute, arms crossed. "_You're_ not wearing a skirt," he pointed out.  
"Yes, but _my_ hips know how to move. Yours need as much…_assistance_ as necessary."  
"I'm not wearing it," he spat firmly, glaring at Ginny. She glared right back.   
"No one's going to see you! It's just us here…think of it as a kilt," she encouraged.   
"I _won't_," Harry insisted. Ginny came to stand before him. Even though she was at least half a foot shorter, she spoke in a steely tone like Molly Weasley's when she scolded her sons.   
"You get upstairs and put that on, or the deal's off and that's a promise."   
Harry bit his lip. He couldn't let Hagrid down. Finally, he sighed.   
"_Fine_!"   
  
After five minutes of battling with the stretchy cloth (and his pride), Harry slumped back downstairs, where Ginny was positioning a record onto the player. Her back still to him, Ginny said in a very knowing voice,  
"Drop those jeans, Potter."  
  
He groaned and undid his pants, dumping them on the nearest stair. He chose to ignore the fact that a pleasant little breeze now fluttered about his thighs. Music started to play and Ginny turned round.   
"You're a big Quidditch man; you know what strategy to use in what situation. You think about every move before doing it. Now, I want you to close your eyes, relax, and listen."  
  
Harry did so, wondering where this was going.   
"Take all those rationalisms, all those thoughts, strategies…and throw them out the window."   
He heard Ginny's heels coming closer.   
"The first rule of dancing is…don't think. Feel. Move." She put her hands on his hips and pushed them to the side, making them swerve. Though shocked, Harry didn't open his eyes.  
"Now's probably a good time to tell you; there's not much personal space in dancing. Oh, and the second rule," she breathed, "is there are no more rules. Because all rules are made to be broken."   
  
Harry was now a bit confused, but kept his mouth shut.   
"Open your eyes."  
She swerved his hips again.   
"Notice the movement of the skirt. If it swirls like that, your hips are moving too much. Only girls swivel; boys are more about footwork," she finished, turning to look at him.   
"Don't worry, it's not as hard as you think it'll be….Now, I'm going to teach you a very simple dance. Simple, but formal…" Ginny lifted a finger towards the record player, made a stirring motion, and the record began to play from the beginning.   
  
She took Harry's hands. "Hand positioning—one is palm to palm with your partner's, thumbs crossed, their fingers resting along the gap between your thumb and index; the other hand is on their spine, almost to the tailbone. The girl's free hand will either be on your back or shoulder."   
  
Harry shifted his hand between Ginny's shoulder blades. She frowned, and slowly guided his hand to the small of her back. Harry's throat went dry.   
"_Relax_. For this dance, every step you take, I will follow. So, take one step forward."   
He moved his right foot. Ginny stepped backwards with her left.   
"Good." He sighed with relief. "Now, sort of brush your other foot so that there's about five inches of space between both your feet."   
Harry slid his left toes across the carpet.   
"Excellent. The final thing you need to learn for this dance is the pattern. All you do is move in a box shape. Whatever foot drags will step next. So that's one—two—three—OUCH!"  
"Sorry, Ginny!" exclaimed Harry, dropping her hand as though scalded, for he had just driven his foot into her shin.   
"It's all right, Harry," she replied, massaging her leg. "Let's try again."   
Harry positioned his hands in the appropriate places and began to count.  
"One—" _right step, drag,  
_"Two—" _to the left, step, drag,  
_ "Three—" _top right, step, drag,_  
"Four—" _back left, step, drag…_  
  
"You've got it, Harry," Ginny said, smiling at him. "Let's go a bit faster. Listen to the music…" Harry heard a string orchestra playing a waltz ; Ginny sang along to it,  
"La lada da dam, bum bum, bum bum, Lada da da dam…the count for a waltz is one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three…and you want to step on each 'count one'…Got it?"  
"I think so," said Harry, a bit unnerved by the speed of the count.   
"Okay, ready? And one-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three…"  
  
Harry stepped off, stumbling a bit at first, but slowly and surely mastering the count.   
"Harry, look up," Ginny whispered nearly half an hour later; he stopped watching his feet and gazed at her. Miraculously, they were still moving in perfect time. He was _waltzing!  
_ "I'm—I'm doing it! I'm really doing it!"   
"Yeah!" she cried, beaming.   
Harry swooped her into a hug. "Yes, yes, _yes!_"  
  
"Let's celebrate!" Ginny shouted, running to the player and switching records. "You can get out of that skirt," she added, waving her hand at his jeans on the stairs as a fast salsa beat pulsed throughout the room. They flew into Harry's arms.   
"Ginny, how—"   
"Do you dance this? I'll show you, but put your jeans on first. That skirt is kind of scaring me on you."   
  
Wondering how Ginny could command objects without a wand, he put both legs into the pants, slipped them up, zipped, buckled, and pulled off the skirt. Ginny took it from him and put it on over her shorts.   
  
"Salsa is really quite simple. You dance what you feel. You dance like nobody's watching."   
She began to dance in front of Harry, her skirt billowing out behind her. He was entranced by the movement of her body, how her every curve drank in the music, lived off it. Ginny took his hand and held it high above her head so he could spin her.   
  
Their fingers intertwined, Harry closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in the rhythm. Allowed himself not to care how silly he probably looked, not care about his past, what people thought, what tomorrow would bring—but care only about this moment, celebrate it, dance like nobody was watching so he could become someone he barely knew.  
  
Become Harry. Just Harry.

* * *

a/n: longer because the last chapter was shorter. I don't claim to be a dance instructor or know anything about dance. I just know that it's a wonderful feeling to dance like nobody's watching. I highly recommend you lock yourself in your room, put on a song that makes you feel like dancing, and do what you feel. Seriously! I want reviews telling me you did this! lol.   
  
Review b/c HiPa loves you!


	9. Good For The Complexion

** C H A P T E R N I N E   
  
"**Amongst the dustiness of this place, a mane of crimson hair is most noticeable," said Firenze the centaur, offering his hand to Ginny Weasley as she scaled the end of the ladder, which led into the classroom of Sibyll Trelawney.   
"What brings you here, young one?" he asked, watching as she brushed dirt off her nightgown.   
"It is a quest, Firenze," replied an ethereal voice, belonging to a skinny woman in a sapphire nightdress that fell to her knees.   
"I told you she would come."   
  
Ginny blinked in surprise. "You knew I was coming? But…but who _are_ you?"   
The skinny woman extended an anemic arm to her side and went into a low half-bow. "Sibyll Trelawney, Seer extraordinaire, professor of Divinations,"   
"No, not you," Ginny said, vaguely waving a hand at her while gazing at the centaur, "_You_."   
"I am Firenze, Centaur anomalous, professor of Divinations."   
"How did you know I was coming, especially at this hour?"   
Firenze's face looked grave in the flickering candlelight of two in the morning.   
  
"The movements of the stars, their position in the skies, tell our stories. Most human paths are inconspicuous across the heavens, but yours is streaked with significance. You are Ginevra Weasley—do not forget it."   
  
"Of…of course," said Ginny uncertainly as the centaur led her to a rickety table, where a misty orb glowed calculatingly. She settled upon a pouf and found Professor Trelawney seated crosswise from her.   
"It is time for my departure. Goodnight to you both." Firenze trotted away into darkness.   
  
"Forgive my appearance, my dear. I just finished my bath." Professor Trelawney said in regards to her damp hair and nightdress.   
"At this hour?" Ginny asked, incredulous.   
" 'Tis the crescent moon," Professor Trelawney countered, squinting out the nearest window as she was not wearing her glasses. "Good for the complexion, you know."   
Ginny stared at her.   
"Ah, yes. Your quest, my dear. There is a question you want answered."   
Crossing her arms, Ginny snorted.   
"I've heard all about you, Professor. My brother Ron and my friend—"   
"Hermione Granger, no doubt?"   
"Yes, her, they've told me about the rubbish you teach—"  
"And yet you came here tonight," Trelawney interrupted. "Do you know why?"   
Ginny could not bring herself to look at her.  
  
"Because you _believe_," the professor whispered. "Hermione Granger did not See because she willed it, because she finds it difficult enough to decode her past, her present. She cannot believe in what she does not see, and that is—was—her downfall here. Ronald Weasley was wrongly exposed to my teachings; he began to see me as a charlatan, a swindler, yet a small part of him secretly longed to believe.  
  
"You, my dear, came tonight because you see me as an equal, a confidante, as one who will understand the strange, precognitive dreams you have. I am right in saying that your guesses are usually accurate? You have frequent bouts of déjà vu?"   
  
Still not looking, she nodded.   
"I know what you are seeking, Ginevra," continued Trelawney, shifting the crystal ball to one side and shuffling a pack of cards. She dealt five cards, face down. "You are, not for the first time, seeking the Seeker."  
Ginny's heart gave a jolt.   
Over flipped one card.   
"The Serpent. Something is lurking near your ankle, ready to strike."   
And another.  
"Desert Sand. Something you buried, tried to desert awhile ago is being unearthed."   
Another.  
"The Non-Healable Wound. Again, something from your past is returning.  
And another.  
"The Lion Heart. How fitting. Your mask of bravery is deceiving even you. There is something you are not being honest about with yourself."   
And the final one.   
"The Seeing Eye. This something is quickly becoming clearer."   
  
There was a small pause, then:  
"You still wear a heart on your ankle for him, don't you, m'dear?"   
Ginny gasped. She lifted her foot onto her lap and gazed at her ankle. There, in faded emerald ink, was a tiny heart inscribed upon the skin (Merely bored over the summer before third year, she had drawn it there, and retraced it so many times it seemed to become permanent).  
"How do you know about that?"   
"How could you forget?"   
Rubbing her ankle, Ginny bit her lip. _How could have she forgotten?_   
"Because I gave up on him, Professor."   
Trelawney peered at her.   
"But…but," continued Ginny in a voice of dawning, "I never really let him go. I still love him."   
"Yes, my dear," murmured Trelawney, beaming. "I think you just might have the G—"  
  
The classroom's trapdoor creaked open, and up climbed—  
"Harry!"   
"Ginny!" Harry said in a strangled whisper. "What are you doing here?"   
"I was just—" Ginny turned to Professor Trelawney, but all that was across from her were an empty seat, a flickering candle, and her five cards. "Oh…"  
"You weren't trying to unfog the future, were you?" Harry asked on a laugh.   
"No," replied Ginny softly. "I was discovering the _now_. How did you know I was up here, anyway?"   
"Marauder's Map," he said simply, waving it at her. "I had the mad urge to check it…oh damn. McGonagall's coming! We've got to get out of here, fast—we're out of bounds…"   
  
He scrambled back down the ladder. Ginny cast a hand towards the table, gave the candle a small smile, and scuttled after Harry.

* * *

a/n: I claim no knowledge on the art of Divination, tarot reading, or fortune telling.


	10. A Sirius Conversation

** C H A P T E R  T E N   
  
            **Panting, Harry and Ginny found themselves facing the portrait guarding entrance to Gryffindor tower.    
  
            Which, naturally, was devoid of the Fat Lady.  
  
            Ginny moaned and checked the map.  "_What_ are we going to do?  It looks like McGonagall is coming up here!"   Harry sank down onto the floor beneath the painting.  "All we can do is wait."    
  
            He could only remember two times other than this in which the Fat Lady had been absent from her frame.  Once in first year, when he, Ron, Hermione, and Neville had come across Fluffy, and again in third year…  
  
            When Sirius had slashed her apart.    
  
            Noticing how oddly slack Harry's body had gone, Ginny joined him on the floor.  She too thrust her head backward and looked up at the painting, whose background was a lovely star-filled sky on a cloudless night.    
  
            Right in the center of the sky was a sparkling constellation, looking very familiar:    
            _Canis Major._   
  
            Harry closed his eyes, willing the image of the Dog Star, Sirius, to fade away.  Ginny watched him, knowing he was incredibly close to having some sort of breakdown.     
  
            He did not care Ginny was there, because he knew she would understand.  He opened his mouth to say in a watery voice:   
  
            "Dammit, Sirius, why did you have to die?"       
  
            And letting go completely, Harry allowed himself to crumple into the broken, beaten heap he was, and cry. Just cry, like the child he wasn't. Just cry, like the man he would become.  
  
            He wept bitterly for the losses of his parents, and Cedric, and his godfather, and all the other faceless people that had died due to him.  He wept because he knew, somehow, these deaths were his fault, and he deserved to ache for them.    
  
            Ginny sat there, taking in the sight of him curled up beneath the portrait, his scar-disfigured head held fast in his shaking hands, which were also absorbing a storm of wracking sobs that had been pent up since Merlin knows when.  
  
            She reached over tentatively, and, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other across his shoulders, cradled him to her.      
  
            "It's all right, Harry.  It's okay," Ginny whispered into his hair, trickling it through her fingers.  His sobs began to soften.  "It's my fault…"  
              
            "No, it's not.  Sirius died because he loved you.  We all still do, you know."  
              
            "You don't understand.  I could have saved more lives by abandoning my own…my own damn skin means more to me than anyone else's.  And I have to save the world with it.  For fifteen years I've lived only to do this… "   
              
            "I'm so sorry…so sorry," she murmured, gently rocking him, and reflecting on the horrors he must live through.  
              
            "No…I'm sorry, Ginny," he replied, hiccupping slightly.  He couldn't ever remember crying that hard in his life, and so could not look up at her through shameful, blurred eyes.    
              
            "I didn't mean to…fall to pieces like that…"    
            "I know,"  she answered, releasing him, "but Harry, you deserved to."  
            "How do you mean?"    
              
            "I've seen you go through so many foul things and build up wall after wall to hide them all.  Yet no matter how strong the walls are, if their foundation shatters, they too will fall."    
              
            He just stared at her.  
              
            "What I mean to say is, you can't hide forever.  You may think the safest hiding place of all is you, but it is, in fact, the worst.  If you keep to yourself all the time you'll go mad.  You need to find an escape, an outlet…"  she trailed off thoughtfully.  Amazing.  She did understand after all.  
              
            "And I have one.  I mean, dancing…right?"    
              
            "I can't answer that question for you.  But I can help you solve it…starting—" Ginny looked down at her watch, which read 2:37 a.m. "—tomorrow.  Consider it my birthday present to you."    
              
Harry realized with a start that it would indeed be his actual sixteenth birthday the following day.  
  
            "Oh, for Merlin's sake!"  she hissed angrily, suddenly.  "Harry, how have we been getting into Gryffindor tower all this week?"    
              
            "Well, the Fat Lady always opens it for us…"    
              
            "But never asks for a password!  Which means,"  she wrenched the portrait away from the wall, revealing entry, "we sat out here for nothing."    
  
            Harry gave a shaky laugh and followed Ginny through the portrait hole.  They stared at each other awkwardly.  Ginny yawned.    
              
            "Well, off to bed…I have to go do some paperwork for _Snape_ later…"    
              
            She began to climb the staircase.  Harry felt odd, letting her go like that, without a thanks.  
              
            "Ginny!  Wait…I—"  
              
            "Don't say it, Harry,"  she said, turning round and looking at him.  "I know."    
              
            It took her an age to reach the top of the stairs, but he didn't mind.  He watched her do it, watched her hips sway below her emerald nightgown.  Watched her hand slide up the banister, her arm arced elegantly.  Watched her fiery tresses bounce in their ponytail with each step her padded slippers took.    
  
            Harry was beginning to grasp the meaning of a cursed life…and the sheer beauty of simple acts.  There was a chink in his armor now, but what it was, he could not say.  All he knew was that, at that instant, something about Ginny Weasley pierced his heart. 

* * *

a/n:  YES!  Harry's beginning to love again!  WOOHOO!  There's hope for him yet…at least, there is if you REVIEW!  
  
            HiPa Loves you!      


	11. So You Can See

A/n: this is probably the one of the most difficult chapters I will have to write—I don't want to turn this story into one of those stupid fanfictions you read where Harry and Ginny fall in love in five minutes (personally, I think I've worked too hard for that to happen now). I've tried to do it gradually, and to keep them in character to the best of my ability.

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C H A P T E R E L E V E N   
After another exhausting day, Harry was stretched out on his back upon his four-poster bed. _You think McGonagall would have lightened up a bit, considering what day it is._ Harry's prediction had been dead on: his training was indeed intensifying.   
  
It was a slight relief that Ginny insisted he not train her today—not only because it was his birthday and he was feeling sluggish, but also because, ever since last night, he was finding it harder to think clearly. For some odd reason, last night he had dreamt of Ginny climbing the staircase in slow motion, every detail defined. He dreamt of her cradling him, and felt the weight of her hands, her caress, upon his neck and shoulders, her fingers trickling through his hair, the smell of her hair and clothes.   
  
He wondered why this was happening. Why last night's dreams were devoted to her. Why what he had known all along about her was now being reintroduced to him in sharp relief: She was an extraordinary person, and the only one who was able to respond to his anger without trepidation of his reaction.   
  
Sharp knocking on the door interrupted his thoughts, and Dobby the house-elf entered the room.   
"Happy Birthday, Harry Potter, sir!" he cried for the umpteenth time that day.  
"Thanks, Dobby," Harry replied, grinning at him.   
"Dobby has taken the liberty, sir, of preparing a special dinner in Harry Potter's honor downstairs. That is, if he would like to attend."   
" 'Course I'll come," said Harry.   
"Erm…do I have to dress up or anything?"  
"Dobby would think it wise, sir," he said, smiling mysteriously.   
  
Harry thought about the last instance he and Dobby had been in each other's company during dinnertime.   
  
"Uh…there won't be any pudding, will there?"   
"None that Dobby will smash, Harry Potter," giggled the elf, closing the door behind him.  
  
---  
  
Five minutes later, Harry jogged down the staircase, adjusting his shirtsleeves. Once he looked up, however, his jaw dropped.  
  
After he had cleared out all the other furniture, Dobby had placed one of the common room's circular tables right before the fireplace, where a good blaze was going. The only other light in the room came from two scarlet, tapering candles on the table.   
  
"Wow, thank you, Dobby," Harry said graciously, looking around at it all as the house-elf pulled out Harry's chair for him. "This is great!"  
" Dobby was happy to do it, sir."   
  
While plucking at the silvery bits of confetti sprinkled over the midnight blue tablecloth, Harry realized there was another place set across from him.  
  
And its occupant was descending from the girl's staircase.  
  
There was a black fedora tugged down across half her face, concealing her right eye, part of the nose and cheek, and most of her vivid red hair, which was pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck. One wavy strand grazed the length of her face.  
  
She wore a short, flowing black skirt, black, strappy heels, and a white blouse with the Gryffindor tie knotted loosely round the collar.   
  
Harry's hand automatically jumped up to his hair in attempt to smooth it as Dobby pulled out Ginny's chair for her. Dobby placed two covered platters before them, demonstrated how to change courses (simply replacing and removing the top after each course), and excused himself from the room.   
  
"You…erm…look nice, Ginny," Harry said, lifting his fork and not looking at her.   
"Thanks. You too," she replied, staring at her own salad.  
"Is that one of Fred and George's Headless Hats?"   
"Yeah. The charm ran out so they let me have it."   
They ate a few minutes in silence, the fire crackling happily.   
"I didn't mean to—this wasn't what I would have worn—I was messing about with the school uniform when Dobby came up and told me about dinner."  
  
He looked up at her.   
"It's okay," he said, clearing his throat. "You really do look nice."  
Her eye reflected the candlelight as she gazed back at him from under the hat.   
"Thank you, Harry."   
His stomach gave a peculiar lurch as he noticed how big and brown just that one eye was. Snapping his own eyes back to his salad, he said nothing until the next course.  
  
"I wonder what Ron and Hermione are doing right now."  
"Probably snogging each other to bits," said Ginny unconcernedly.  
Harry's knife and fork fell with a clatter upon his plate of steak.  
"I…was… _joking_," she laughed. "They probably haven't figured it out yet."  
"You've said that before," Harry said, intrigued. "What haven't they figured out?"   
"Why, that they fancy each other, of course!" cried Ginny. She put down her own knife and fork. "Don't tell me you didn't know?" she added suspiciously.  
"Erm…" said Harry again. Truth be told, he had never really thought about Ron and Hermione's love lives.   
Ginny sighed something that sounded like "_men"_, and carried on eating.   
  
But Harry was now somewhat interested. "They do?"   
It was Ginny who dropped her cutlery this time.   
"Oh Merlin…and you're supposed to be smarter than I am….It's been obvious to half the school that Ron's fancied Hermione since his second year or so…Hermione's a bit more obscure, I'm not exactly sure, but I think it was around her third or fourth…"  
  
Harry leaned back in his chair, one hand raking his through hair. This was _mind-blowing._  
"Bloody Hell," he uttered, using one of Ron's favorite expressions.   
"Mmm," said Ginny, losing interest and proceeding to devour the piece of chocolate cake on her platter.   
  
After they finished desert, Ginny raised her goblet full of butterbeer.   
"A toast," she proclaimed, as Harry lifted his own drink, "To Mr. Harry James Potter. May he find what he seeks…and even the goodness he does not. Happy Birthday, Harry."  
She tipped back and drank to him. Harry did the same, grinning into his cup.   
  
"Time for my birthday present," she chimed, jerking her hair out of its bun, so that it fell in waves down her back, and retreating to the record player and positioning the needle. "I have a feeling this is your kind of music."  
  
Harry was quite surprised to hear a tango playing—something he had never danced before. However, he knew from experience that putting faith in Ginny would not lead him astray.   
  
He marched up to her, took her left hand, bowed a bit, and asked, "May I have this dance?"   
  
She nodded, gesturing towards the table. It scooted back several feet, giving them a dance floor.  
  
"Take off your glasses."  
"Why?"  
"So you can see."  
  
The glissando of a piano began the newest melody; Ginny, her arm extended, twirled gently into the crook of Harry's right arm. They intertwined both hands and started a mild two-step.   
  
Dancing on tiptoes, Ginny whispered in Harry's ear.  
"Feel the music. Find your escape."   
And taking a deep breath, Harry did.  
  
He grasped her fedora and put it on his own head. Spinning Ginny once, Harry dipped her backwards. She curved one leg around his knee and rose slowly. Twirling so he placed his hands on her hips, Ginny covered one of his hands with her own as the other stroked Harry's cheek and neck.   
  
A shiver of pleasure shot through him. He dipped her back again, this time trailing his fingers tenderly from her calf to her thigh.   
  
All time seemed to stop. Their eyes locked for what seemed a breathless eternity—beautiful, deep brown on glimmering, unconcealed emerald. Harry stood there, supporting her quite steadily, but shaking inside. Ginny's lips were slightly parted, a lock of scarlet hair tossed across her face.   
  
Ever so softly, Harry tucked it behind her ear, eyes locked all the while. He lifted her carefully upward and met his mouth with hers.

* * *

A/n: ahh, I can hear the squeals of happiness now! lol, I had half a mind to write McGonagall running into the common room, screaming "Hanky Panky! Hanky Panky!" at the top of her lungs. But alas, that would ruin the moment.   
Hope it wasn't (too) OOC, and that I didn't kill my storiee!  
  
Review b/c HiPa Lurves You!  
  
p.s. I would adore to see fanart bout this. if anyone is willing to put some of mine for this story on their site, plz let me noe!


	12. My Mistake

A/n: Hey! Wow, I've made it past the 100 review mark for the first time ever!!! And I have to thank all of you that read this story for making that possible! Now, to reply to some reviews:  
  
**LexiLou**: would it be better if I said the frying pan had a plastic handle? -shrug-  
**kingsdork24**: I really do think she would have blushed b/c Harry isn't her son, and I think she's coming to realize that. Thanks for debating.  
**SnakeEyesHannah**: thanks for the excellent reviews and boosting my morale…perhaps your suggestion will come in useful!  
**specialpastry**: "you're driving me insane"…funny, that's what my ex-boyfriend said…lol  
**cherryblossom08:** actually, Trelawney was about to say "Gift", like Seer gift, not "Grim". Heh. I love her too, tho.  
  
also, thanks to:  
**JamieBell, Nightwing 509, Luna Lovegood 2, Carmel March, ferggirl99, assakura, Gryphonmistress, jennifer, kallasilya, candice, luisa, keli, kat, Marauder Angel, coyote/spike, Shinyu, Mesa, armed, milky way bar, ChibiMangaAngel, riotgirl2718, skittish, craftygurl, Queen Guenevere, ****Sango'n'Miroku4ever, Dragon Girl Revlis, hyper yo yo boy**  
and anyone else I missed…sorry! But I love you all!

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**Favorite reviewer quote that tells me I'm doing _something_ right:**  
"_I don't really think it's one of those stories that burns a hole in your teeth because of the extreme sweetness and fluffyness. This actually makes you go through the complications and the thoughts surrounding when you're realizing you're falling in love with someone..._"  
--_SnakeEyesHannah_

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** C H A P T E R T W E L V E **  
  
Ginny didn't comprehend what was happening until she had to come up for breath. Her face flushed, lips crimson, and eyes wide, she gawked at Harry. He looked nearly as shocked as she felt. Using the arm she had wound around his neck as a lift, Ginny eased herself to a standing position. Harry still had a supporting arm upon her back.   
  
They were about three inches apart, gazing at each other, wondering what the other was thinking.   
  
"It's my fault," said Ginny abruptly, taking a step backward and unthinkingly licking her lips. Harry kept his hold on her.   
"Wha—? Ginny, it's no one's fault, it was—"  
"It was what?" she interrupted coolly. "A mistake? An accident?"  
Harry didn't know what to say. Ginny smirked scathingly.  
"Of course. It was my fault for letting you get caught up in the moment, for not warning you something like this might happen."   
And to both their horrors, Ginny's eyes began to water.  
"My mistake. It was my mistake," she whispered. "What was it to you, Harry?"   
She turned away and fled up the staircase.   
  
Harry stood there, momentarily stunned. He heard a door slam as he sat down at the table, watching the candles flicker in the fireplace's dying light. The music player was still going. Harry yanked the fedora off his head and placed it in front of him. He blew out the candles and a complete darkness filled the place.   
  
"What was it to me, Ginny?" he murmured to the stillness. "It was _brilliant_."   
  
Seizing his glasses, Harry went upstairs to bed.   
  
---  
  
It had been five days (counting today) since she and Harry had last spoken, Ginny realized, studying the calendar on her night table. Quite an amazing feat, considering they were the only two students in the castle. She managed it, however, by seeking refuge in her dormitory whenever McGonagall gave them a spare moment.   
  
So now, Ginny sat on her bed, wrapped in her favorite yellow bathrobe and slippers, her hair loose and wavy from her bath, eating chocolates and in a very anti-Harry sort of mood.   
  
_How_ he could use her that way! _What_ was he thinking? _Why_ had he done it?  
  
These same questions had been running like a broken record in her head every night since. They were now in such a jumble she needed to siphon them off somehow. Opening the drawer of her night table, Ginny pulled out a quill, ink, and parchment. She polished off one last chocolate and settled at the vanity desk in the corner.  
  
But how to begin?  
  
_Ah_, she thought in a grim sort of way.   
  
_Dear Tom,  
I really don't believe it. Not one bit. Five years. Nearly five years I wait around for  
this bloke, and during that time I never got so much as a wink. Sure, I said I got over him  
ages ago, but guess what, _I lied_.  
  
So what? Loads of people do it—you did it, and I used to hope he did it, too. That   
when he didn't notice me it was a lie—that really, he would watch me from afar and  
was slowly falling in love with my wit, my charm, my inner beauty.  
  
But of course, who would fall in love with a Weasley? A silly little red-headed girl   
with a spray of freckles and a blush to rival the setting sun. When did the hero ever fall  
in love with the worshipper?  
  
Never.  
  
And so, after that night in the chamber, I knew I must become stronger. I thought   
he wanted a hero, someone like him; I think, at a point, I tried to _become_ him. I went   
through my second year with a new hope, only to have it crushed again.  
  
Finally, when the Yule Ball came around, I made a choice. I knew my attempts were  
not working. I told myself, _Ginevra Weasley waits for no one. _I decided to let him go.   
What was the point of waiting for something that would never come? To be a spinster, an  
old maid at thirteen? Why, when I could find love with someone else? And, even better,   
have it returned.  
  
I found Michael Corner, and was happier than I had ever been. But after three  
months of bliss in fourth year, something inside me said_ "This isn't right. You don't love him  
like you loved Harry." _I was back were I had started, but this time, with a new skill. I had   
become a fighter. I didn't need anyone to save me now. I thought I could fight myself,   
save me from myself and win.   
  
For awhile it worked. I devoted myself to Michael, but began to find little things  
about him irking me. He still felt deeply for me, though, and I even felt a bit guilty for   
lying to him, for still being with him when I knew, deep down, my feelings for him were   
dying.   
  
I don't think I was ever really in love with Michael. I think it was more of an infatuation.  
  
It was actually a relief when he went off to comfort Cho. Dean Thomas, Harry's   
roommate offered to thump him for me. I'd always thought Dean was good-looking,  
and really nice. Technically, we're not together, but even so a part of me hoped  
Harry was jealous when he heard.  
  
And now, after all this time, after how long I've waited, he does this.  
  
He used me, Tom. Used me for an escape. Used me for freedom. If it were anyone   
else I could hate them for it—but no, not him. I can't hate him. He reminds me now of  
how I was then—helpless, lost, surrounded but alone. And the fact that I can help him  
is _my_ escape. I'm not worthless anymore; I mean something to him, as a friend.  
  
We never said anything about love.   
  
I didn't expect to fall in love with him again, and definitely not so hard. And part   
of me wonders…what if he did it because he wanted to? What if, after all this time, he  
really is falling in love with me? I doubt he'd realize it. But even so, I can't just run and   
throw my arms around him, give myself completely. I know his life's full of hardships, but,  
because of him, mine has been, too.   
  
To get what we want, we must work for it.  
  
Love always,  
Ginny  
  
_She read it over twice and pushed the parchment aside. Reaching for a new piece, Ginny picked up her quill and began to scribe a letter to Dean.   
  
---  
  
Still in her robe and slippers and cognizant of a snoring Harry, Ginny tiptoed across the boys' dormitory. She eased open Dean's bedside cabinet, placed the letter inside, and slinked away.   
  
Unnoticed by anyone, a second letter fell from Ginny's pocket and fluttered to the floor.

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a/n: haha, I think you're right—I _might_ have a thing for mini-cliffies!   
Will Ginny notice her letter is gone? What if Harry reads it? Is Harry really as thick as Ginny gives him credit for? And will good reviewers get to finish Ginny's chocolate?  
Find out next time in _Freaky Flying: Summer Nights_!  
  
HiPa Loves You (Yes, _you_)!   
  
sorry for bad formatting...:-(


	13. HANKY PANKY!

A/n: ::tosses chocolate every which way:: WOW! So many reviews! I can't thank ya'll enough, so I'm going to try and make this a longer chapter!   
  
(Please note the rating increase due to some of the mild content of this chapter)

* * *

**Newest Fave Reviewer Quotes:**

  
_I love your portrayal of Ginny. Most people just seem to miss the boat, but not you._  
— Padfootlover719  
  
…_I want to finish Ginny's chocolate, and if I die tonight in my sleep I shall be most disappointed that not only will I have missed the last 2 books, but also the rest of your fanfic..._  
— Queen Guenevere__

* * *

** C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N   
It was with a wide yawn and bleary eyes that Harry awoke with on the 6th of August. He scratched his head, put on his glasses, and threw his feet over the side of his bed, promptly crumpling a piece of parchment. Harry picked it up with his toes, brow furrowed, and opened it.   
  
_Dear Dean,  
  
_Dean—Dean _Thomas_?!  
  
_Hey, it's Ginny. This is one of the most awkward letters I've ever written—erm, look, Dean, you're a _really_ great guy, and incredibly sweet…but I think it would be best if we stayed as friends, do you know what I mean? It's just that I have a lot of stuff going on at the moment and I feel like I wouldn't be able to give you the attention you fully deserve, and I don't think that would be fair to you.   
  
All my best,  
Ginny  
  
P.S. If I need an O.W.L.s tutor, I'll let you know._  
  
Harry put the pieces together in his mind. Ginny had been here last night, he knew it. And she wasn't seeing Dean. For some reason, the idea gave him a sort of satisfaction.   
  
Not wanting to lead the poor boy on, Harry folded up the letter and made to put it in Dean's drawer. Trouble was, a piece of parchment already lay there.   
  
Harry swapped the two letters. Part of him knew he really shouldn't be reading this, it was Ginny's business, but the anger and resentment of being ignored for a crime he didn't commit left him with little remorse.   
  
He nearly dropped the parchment in shock.  
  
She was writing to Tom?! _Tom_ _Riddle_?  
  
Well, it made sense—Tom did seem to be the only confidant she had had, the only one who listened. Perhaps the letter was like a journal entry, and Tom the journal.   
  
Phrases jumped out at Harry—  
…_when he didn't notice me it was a lie…I thought he wanted a hero…I didn't need anyone to save me now…Used me for an escape… I'm not worthless anymore… he really is falling in love with me?…_   
  
Folding the letter and tucking it in his pocket, Harry stomped into the lavatory to prepare for McGonagall. Things had gone far enough.  
  
---  
  
"Ginny! GINNY!" Harry bellowed up the girls' staircase at about 8:45 that evening, quite beside himself. Ginny answered by humming placidly to herself and continuing the lacquering of her toenails. It wasn't the first time Harry had tried to talk to her, but he was certainly being aggressive about it.   
  
There was the sound of heavy footsteps pounding the stairs, and then a sort of alarm noise. "Ginevra Weasley, I'm calling you out!" cried Harry, panting, flat on his back. He seemed to have forgotten Ron's "slide incident" last year.   
  
Ginny raised her eyebrows, capped the nail polish, and poked her head out the door.   
"Don't speak to me in that tone, Harry Potter," she said coldly, smirking at him from the top of the staircase-turned-slide.   
  
"I'll speak to you how I please," he retorted. Hopefully, Ginny would grow angry enough to come down and hit him; then, conceivably, they could have their first real conversation in nearly a week.   
  
Coming out completely from behind the door, Ginny glared, her nightdress billowing around her and so livid she wasn't watching her step .   
  
"Who do you think you are—?!" she exclaimed, before tripping over her own feet and slipping down the slide on her knees…  
  
…And landing atop Harry's stomach.   
  
"Oof!"  
  
_Run! Gerroff him!_ Ginny's mind screamed, but her legs, splayed on either side of Harry's abdomen, didn't want to respond. Harry gently grasped the hands on both his shoulders, no doubt used to break the fall, and made Ginny look at him.  
  
"Is this the only way we're going to be able to talk?" he asked quietly, a small blush across his face. The fact was they _were_ in a rather compromising position.   
_Say something!_ Her mind shrieked frantically. _Ignore the fact you're sitting on him!_  
"Erm…" began Ginny brilliantly, "there's nothing more to say…"  
"That's not what you told _Tom_," Harry said with a hint of bitterness.   
Ginny yanked her hands from beneath his. "You—you read my letter? _How could you_?" she attempted to stand but Harry firmly held her down.   
  
"Look, I didn't do it on purpose, I found Dean's first on the floor and went to put it in his drawer, but—the point is," he blathered impatiently, "there's some stuff we need to clear up."  
She watched him expectantly, one eyebrow raised, arms folded across her chest.  
He heaved a great breath, which, of course, made his stomach rise, along with Ginny, and, looking her dead in the eyes, began.   
  
"First of all…I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything—for all those times I ignored you, or made you feel worthless, or didn't take your feelings into consideration. But most of all, I'm sorry that I didn't start seeing you—the _real_ you—sooner. I guess it's because you're my best mate's little sister…  
  
"But I see you now…and I hope that counts for something. Now, I've never been in love, so I dunno if that's what I'm feeling at the moment—"  
  
She placed a finger on his lips and silenced him instantly, all her past rage dissolved. She didn't doubt the truth of his words, because everything he said was reflected in his eyes. Ginny had waited too long for this moment to muck it up now.   
  
"Well," she asked softly, "Do you get this sort of floaty feeling?"  
"Yeah…"  
"And you find it hard to focus on other things?"  
"Yeah."  
"And you find yourself wanting to protect…this person?"  
"Yeah."  
"Could you talk to this person for hours?"  
"Yeah," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. Their faces were now inches apart.   
There was an odd look in Ginny's eyes.   
  
"Are you saying you love me, Harry Potter?"  
"Yes," he breathed, and he placed one hand on Ginny's neck, stroking it with his thumb.   
"You promised you wouldn't," she said on a laugh.   
"But I hope you don't mind…" she leaned down, "if I…do…_this_."  
And she kissed him. Still straddling his stomach, she bowled him over and kissed him.   
  
Harry's mind was in a haze, but he still had enough sense to realize their location wasn't the safest of places. What if McGonagall came in?  
  
"Ginny," he said breathlessly against her lips. She pulled back sluggishly and listened. "Dobby or McGonagall could burst in here any second."  
"Mmm," she sighed. "I would love to continue this conversation, though."  
  
Harry grinned up at her, his first true grin in a very long time. She grinned shiftily in return, and promptly began tickling him.  
  
"Hey—that's—that's not f-f-fair!" he wheezed, reaching up to tickle her. Ginny leapt off him and took off running. Harry ended up chasing her around the Gryffindor common room twice before she raced up the boy's staircase.   
  
By the time he reached his dormitory, Ginny was perched on his bed, her back to him, and re-reading her two letters. As silently as he could, Harry snuck up behind her. He eased onto the bed, swept away the hair cascading down her back, and made to read along. She was so focused on the letters that she didn't acknowledge his presence.   
  
Harry once again noted the beauty of her curves, gazing at the place where her neck met her shoulder. He kissed it delicately, and cautiously worked his way across to her cheek. Such a bolder move he had never made.   
  
Ginny dropped her letters and turned to face him. She leaned in again…  
  
At first it was unhurried, gentle. They discovered and relished the softness of each slow kiss, the tenderness of lips.   
  
Then it became a bit more hurried, hungry…intense.   
  
Lips parted and tongues explored, danced, caressed the insides of mouths fervently as they fell back upon the pillows, entangled, finding love they never knew was possible. And Harry found himself having a very adult sort of feeling. Ginny felt it also. In fact, she let out a little whimper. She nuzzled the side of Harry's neck and he moaned, too.   
  
They suddenly jumped apart as though scalded. Ginny's face was flushed, and there was a small red blemish on her neck. Harry's hair was mussed even more than usual, his glasses off and lips burgundy from kissing.   
"We have to stop," they said together.  
"I love you Harry, I really do—" she started.  
"But I'm just not ready for this—" he said.  
"It's too soon—"  
"And we're so young, there's plenty of time—"  
"When we're older," they concluded unanimously.   
  
Both of them settled on the bed and gazed at each other, not wanting the night to end.   
"You know, you look really beautiful with your hair all messed like that."  
Ginny blushed deeply. "And I love the color of your eyes. It's gorgeous."  
It was Harry's turn to redden.   
"Can I show you something?" she asked suddenly. "Something I've never shown anyone?"  
There was no hesitation in his reply. "Of course."  
She beamed. "Get your broom. Hurry."   
  
---  
  
"Stop right…here," Ginny whispered in Harry's ear. They were both on his broomstick and about to dismount on one of the vast rafters near the Astronomy Tower.  
  
Harry leapt lightly onto the rafter and held out his hand to Ginny, who accepted. She paced back and forth for a bit, came to a decision, and plopped down on the rafter. Harry sat next to her.   
  
"What did you want to—"  
She tilted his head upward and heard his sharp intake of breath.   
"_Wow!_"  
Stars. Millions, billions of stars—stars everywhere, stretched across the ebony sky like so many little glowing Snitches, surrounding the smile of the crescent moon.   
"I made this my sanctuary in third year," Ginny said, nestling her head on Harry's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her back. "I thought maybe now, we could use it together. Merlin knows we're going to need it."  
Harry kissed the top of her head. "Thank you for showing me. It's brilliant."  
"I've always loved the stars, the moon. I think that's why part of me wonders about the dependability of Divination."  
"Speaking of which," said Harry, chortling, "what were you doing that night in Trelawney's classroom?"   
"I was unburying the feelings for you I had hidden," she replied seriously, and raised the hem of her nightdress to reveal the outline of an emerald heart on her left ankle.   
"How long have you had that?"   
"About two years," she said on a yawn.   
"For me?"   
"Mmhmm," she sighed, adjusting her head on his shoulder.   
  
He thought about Divination a bit more and opened his mouth again. "I'd like to believe that every man can choose his future, but I'm starting to doubt it…what do you think, Ginny? Ginny?"  
  
Harry looked down at her and smiled. She had fallen asleep. Shifting her onto his back and mounting his broom, Harry cast the sky one final look before flying to his dormitory window.   
  
He could have sworn the constellation of Canis Major was glimmering brighter than all the others, and that the Dog Star, Sirius, was twinkling so brightly it looked as if it were laughing jovially.   
  
---  
  
Cradling Ginny in his arms, Harry lay her gently on his four-poster, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and pulling up the covers to her neck. He smiled fondly at her for a moment before wondering, _Where am _I _going to sleep?_  
  
Not any of the boys' beds—What if Dobby told McGonagall that he had to tidy two beds that morning? Certainly not the floor—he had no spare blankets. He gulped a bit and, pulling back the sheets, tucked himself in next to Ginny.**

* * *

a/n: well…I'm in shock…AND I WROTE THE CHAPTER! Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, and remember, just when you think you've figured me out, I'll throw you for a loop!  
  
muaha…  
  
-ahem- so…a rap before I go:  
  
Wuz up my homedawgs, hope you liked the show  
Just remember one thing before you go  
What keeps the writer writing, the reader reading  
The skinny guy on Slim-Fast ™, and the fat guy eatin?  
You got it, you got it, all you gots to do   
Is send me, HiPa, a REVIEW!!!  
  
right…FileQuit.


	14. Ups and Downs

A/n:  ::muah:: thanks all, for the excellent praise!  I know this story is quite long—This is only my second H/G fanfic—and I'd like to thank everyone that's been there from the start (and those who have taken the time to catch up!)

* * *

**Reviewer Quotes:**  
            _  
            __I think that you can now make money off of 'Eau de Ginny' perfume cause you have captured her pure essence…she didn't fall straight into Harry's arms like most people tend to do…and you didn't have her become a girl who desperately pines after the boy she loves.   
                        _--Rayah Papaya_  
  
            It's like you can taste the love between the two of them. It's raw and passionate and right there- the way it should be…Most make Ginny simply Ron's brother or Harry's lover, but not you.  
                        _--Padfootlover719

* * *

** C H A P T E R  F O U R T E E N   
  
            **"HANKY PANKY! HANKY PANKY—I WILL NOT HAVE IT!"  
            A yell, a thud, a wrestling of cloth, then—  
            "MS. WEASLEY, WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME WERE YOU THINKING?"  
            "Professor, I—" Ginny pleaded.  
            "AND YOU, POTTER! I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT YOU HAD MORE SENSE THAN THIS!"  
            "Professor, we didn't—" Harry began.  
            "DID YOU EVEN STOP TO THINK THE RISKS YOU'RE RUNNING? THE DAMAGE THIS COULD CAUSE? THE—"  
            "What do you mean, the risks?"  Ginny cut in.  A look of dawning crossed her face, only to be replaced by a very dirty glare.  "Are you saying he can't—?"     
            "YES, MS. WEASLEY THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'M SAYING!" roared McGonagall, outraged not only by the interruption, but by the location of her two pupils this morning.    
              
            Harry stared at both of them from the ground, still tangled in his bed sheets.  He was absolutely mystified with the entire discussion.    
              
            "YOU BOTH SHOULD HAVE LEARNED BY EXPERIENCE—THE CHAMBER, TOM RIDDLE—POTTER'S ALREADY DRAGGED ENOUGH PEOPLE INTO DANGER, AND WE DON'T NEED ANOTHER ADDED TO THE QUEUE!"    
  
            Professor McGonagall had wanted to say this for a very long time, it seemed.  She was completely beside herself—hands clenched, nostrils flared, patches of fury upon her cheeks—nevertheless, Ginny continued to glower from her seat on the bed.    
  
            Finally catching Harry's befuddled look, McGonagall pointed a shaky finger at him and said in a strained tone, "I forbid you to love her, Potter."  
  
            It was as if someone had punched him in the stomach.  The professor turned her back on them.    
  
            "I shall start the fire.  You are going back to Grimmauld Place."  
  
            She slammed the door.  Ginny stared blankly at the wall, fists grasping the sheets.  Harry ran his hands through his hair in frustration.  _Could McGonagall really do that?  Forbid him to love?_  _And what if she told the Weasleys?_  
  
            He bustled around the room furiously, chucking things into his trunk. _So he dragged people into danger, did he?_    
              
            Ginny was still sitting on the bed, her knees tucked in to her chest.  Harry gave the dormitory one last sweep and sat next to her.  
  
            "Hey, Ginny, It'll be okay.  I don't care what McGonagall says, she can't forbid me from loving you."    
  
            The sparse hairs on Ginny's neck prickled.  "I'm going to go pack," she said suddenly, rushing out the door.    
  
Something very odd was going on…  
  
---  
  
            The fire in the Gryffindor common room was bursting green flames, waiting for its passengers.  McGonagall, even now fuming, looked as though she could have breathed it there herself.  Harry helped Ginny lift her trunk into the fireplace and watched her go.    
  
            He turned quickly, seized his wand from his pocket, and pointed it at the professor.  Before she could react, Harry had cried, "_Obliviate!_"  Whipping the wand away, he spoke in a clear, strong voice.    
  
            "Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were never found in the boys' dormitory.  Harry finished his Apparition Training, Ginny her filing, and left for Grimmauld Place on 7th August."    
  
            McGonagall nodded vaguely.  Harry stepped into the flames and felt a vindictive pleasure.  
  
---  
  
            "You _what?_"  Ginny cried, her voice echoing around the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.    
            "It's all for the best, Ginny," Harry whispered, keen not to be overheard. "Now she won't remember finding us, or making that stupid ban…"  
            "But Harry," she said, and he swore her eyes were beginning to water, "what if McGonagall was right?"     
            "Huh?" he asked weakly.    
            "Maybe…maybe it would be better if you…if you didn't…" she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.    
            "Ginny, I know you're scared, because I'm scared, too.  But I won't let anything happen to you—I mean, I saved you once, right?"  he teased, trying to get her to smile.  
  
            Instead, she bit her lip.  "And I don't want you to have to do it again.  Maybe it'll be better if we're…just friends."    
  
            He stood there, shocked.    
              
            "Besides, it's not like we were…_together…_or anything," she added sadly.  
Ginny kissed him swiftly on the lips, picked up her trunk, and walked away.    
  
            "Goodbye, Harry."  
  
Yes.  A cursed life, indeed.  
  
---  
  
            The next few weeks passed without any real meaning.  No one asked why Ginny and Harry had returned from their vacations three days early, or why their conversations were strained and falsely cheerful, or why they hardly ever made eye contact.    
  
            No one except Hermione, that is.    
  
            "Out with it, Harry," she said sharply, pushing him onto the chair in his and Ron's room.  She eyed him beadily and Harry knew it would be futile to resist.    
  
            "Something happened between you and Ginny at Hogwarts, didn't it?"  
            "How did you know we were at Hogwarts together?" he demanded, taken aback.  
            "I got it out of Ginny ages ago," Hermione said, waving away the question as if it were of no importance.  "Now what happened?"  
  
            Harry told her everything—how he didn't realize he had fallen for Ginny until he read her letter to Tom; the first time he kissed her and she hated him for it; being found in the dormitory; McGonagall's ban; Ginny's goodbye…  
  
            "And McGonagall didn't punish you?" Hermione asked skeptically.     
            "No, we drew up an agreement," Harry said quickly.  He was sure if he told Hermione about modifying their teacher's memory, Hermione would go ballistic.    
            "You know," said Hermione thoughtfully, "I don't think Ginny's doubting you love her , and she definitely is not over you, so don't worry about that…but she's afraid that anything between you two might give Voldemort an advantage.  She's remembering Sirius," she added carefully.    
  
            Harry ignored the pang he felt at the name _Sirius_.  "Oh, so she's doing this because if I care too much for her she'll end up getting hurt worse than I ever could and she doesn't want either of us to get hurt at all?"   
  
            Hermione blinked, seemed to process for a moment, then nodded.    
  
            "Bloody hell, that's pretty mucked up."  
            "Don't swear, Harry!"  
            "Music to my ears," said Ron, entering the room.  "It's usually my name on the receiving end of that statement.  So, you found out what's wrong with Harry yet?"  
            "Him and Ginny had a thing, it's over, both of them miss each other but don't want to risk it because of Voldemort," Hermione told him nonchalantly.  Harry braced himself for the mighty rage of Ron.   
            "Oh.  I thought it was something like that."  
  
            His jaw dropped and he stared at the pair of them.   "Since when did you two become agony aunts?  And you," he said to Ron, "why didn't you fly off the handle like you did with Corner?"    
  
            "Because he actually _likes_ you, Harry," said Hermione simply.  "Very few boys are worthy in Ron's eyes."  
            "So, you thinking what I'm thinking?" Ron asked her.    
            "Diagon Alley?"   
            "Diagon Alley."  
  
---  
  
            Half an hour later, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were strolling along the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, chatting and purchasing their new school books.  When the Hogwarts letters had rolled around, Ginny was made prefect.  She was immensely happy and Mrs. Weasley promised to buy her a cat next time they went shopping, as Ginny had always wanted one.    
  
            "Ginny, have you bought anything for Hagrid's wedding?"  Hermione asked anxiously.  It was only three days away.  
            "I'm going to wear my dress robes from the Yule Ball," she replied, making a face, "Ron got a new outfit because he's Hermione's _partner_," Ginny said, laughing at Ron's blush.  
            "What about you, Harry?" Ron asked, eager to take the attention off himself.    
            "Not yet," he admitted.  Mrs. Weasley clicked her tongue and grasped his shoulder.    
              
            "Well, why don't I take Harry to get fitted, and the rest of you can go and visit Fred and George?"  She motioned to a crowded shop to their right, where three neon-green W's were intertwined above the doorway.  "We'll meet in front of Flourish and Blotts in an hour."   
              
            "Excellent," said Ron.  "I've been wanting to get some Snackboxes…"  
            Harry heard Hermione chiding Ron as Mrs. Weasley steered him into Madam Malkin's.  Ginny's laughter filled his head.    
            _"They probably haven't figured it out yet."_  
            Harry sighed and began rifling through the racks.  
  
---  
  
            Half an hour later, Harry emerged from the shop with a new pair of black slacks, a golden shirt, and an ebony two-button jacket.  He had been surprised to find Madam Malkin had some very useful contacts with the Muggle London shops near the Leaky Cauldron.      
  
            Mrs. Weasley bade him farewell as she headed to the Magical Menagerie for Ginny's new cat.  Harry traipsed up and down the path, kicking dirt and thinking about Ginny's displeasure with her robes.  He had seen them—they were a soft yellow and not bad, but did not match her personality at all…    
              
            As soon as the idea struck him, Harry was off, past the Leaky Cauldron, through the brick archway, and into the sunshine.    
  
            He took a look around, having never really been in Muggle London and not really knowing where to go.  Harry walked past shop window after shop window, and just as he was about to rage at himself for coming up with such a stupid idea, he saw it.  
  
            A dress the color of sapphires.    
  
            Harry entered the shop and headed straight to the dress, taking it from the front of the rack.  Rhinestones were speckled across the bosom like so many little glowing Snitches, surrounding the smile of the crescent moon neckline…it the backside of the crescent moon were tapered to a point, that is.    
  
            It was a beautiful dress, but would it do?  Was it a _dancing_ dress?    
  
There was nothing else for it.  Harry swallowed to moisten his dry throat and headed for a changing cubicle.    
  
            _This wasn't so bad_, he thought, doing a twirl in front of the three-way mirror.  The dress billowed out around him, much like Ginny's skirt the first time she taught him to dance.  He examined the way the skirt of the dress sort of waterfalled, starting with short ruffles at the front and looping around to the back into longer ruffles.  Rhinestones had artfully been placed in the center of the satin ruffles, and also at the midsection of the dress in the shape of a v as a sort of belt.    
  
            He turned to adjust the straps that held the backless dress up around his neck, and imagined Ginny's fiery hair cascading around her shoulders and spine.  The contrast would be startling but attractive.    
  
            Giving the dress one final inspection, Harry did a little spin—but stopped halfway through.  Three boys around his age were eyeing him warily, and seemed to be fighting the urge to run.    
  
            "Erm, buying a gift for my girlfriend," he said awkwardly.  They just continued to stare.  Harry dashed back into his normal clothes and to the nearest cashier, blessing Mrs. Figg's suggestion he trade in some of his Gringotts gold for Muggle money.  "In case of emergency," she had said.  
  
            This was an emergency, all right.    
  
---  
  
            When Ginny came back upstairs after dinner, she was surprised to find a sleek black box upon her bed.  Her new kitten, nameless, white-furred, and jade-eyed, was pawing it interestedly.   
            "What do you reckon?" she asked the cat, stroking its furry head and picking up the box.  Inside, nestled atop a forest of silver tissue paper, was a piece of folded-over parchment.   
  
            _Dear Ginny,  
                        Letters seem to be an odd thing with us, don't you think?  Erm…I took the liberty of buying you this as a gift of thanks for all your help with dancing and such, and because I knew you really aren't too keen on your dress robes. It reminded me of the night near the Astronomy tower.  
  
             I hope you like it, especially since I had to try it on myself to make sure it would fit you all right—these three blokes caught me at it…any idea what _"fruit cup" _means?    
  
Well, as this is the best way to talk to you, I guess I'll say it now:  
  
            I miss ya, Gin.  I miss being able to laugh with you, and making you feel safe and loved, the way you made me feel.  I understand that you're scared, and probably right.  Being together is dangerous, and it was selfish of me to want you for myself if it put you in jeopardy.  I'd never want that.  But it doesn't change the way I feel.    
  
            Hope you like it,  
                        Love,  
                                    Harry.  
_  
            Ginny tucked the letter away, feeling tears well up in her eyes.  They began to pour down completely when she lifted the dress out of the box.    
  
            "Oh, Ginny, it's _beautiful_," said Hermione quietly, entering the room.    
            "I've never seen anything like it," Ginny said, running her hands over the fabric.    
            "That's because it's a Muggle dress…probably for a prom or something."  
            "He really loves me, doesn't he?" she asked.  
            "More than both of you will ever know," Hermione replied, scratching the kitten behind the ears so it started to purr.  Crookshanks came over and rubbed himself along the leg that Hermione had dangling off the bed.    
  
            "What do you call this kitten, anyway?"   
            Ginny took it from her, gazed at its jade eyes and fair fur, and said without hesitation,  
            "Lily."

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a/n:  -phew- lots of stuff in this chapter!  I'm pooped!  And I bet many of you are wondering how much longer this story's going…well, the wedding is next chapter, and may be split into two separate parts, so I'm going to say the total chapter quota of **Freaky Flying:  Summer Nights** will be about sixteen to eighteen chapters, including an epilogue.    
  
            But fear not!  Harry and Ginny are getting "together", and I am in the planning stages of a story called **Green Lilies** or something to that effect, which will be about their wedding.  Most likely a follow-up one-shot to this story.    
  
            Review because HiPa Lurves You (and can't rap!)     
              
              
  
             


	15. I Do

(A/n: -sigh- isn't _anybody_ sad that this story is almost coming to an end? ::pulls out hanky and dabs at eyes::) sry about the wait…writer's block, and I wanna go out with a bang…no pressure, right?

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**Reviewer Quotes:  
  
"**_YAY! you used hanky panky! is delighted but really. I love this fic, because you make Ginny seem like a real person, with serious concerns and thoughts. J.K. Rowling would be proud!"  
_—milky way bar _(I'd like to thank the academy…::sob:: )_  
  
_"This is SO GOOD!! It's not the regular dumbass Ginny, or punkass Ginny, but this is the real Ginny. You've captured her personality, and done a fabulous job on Harry's character.   
"I love how they had to slowly fall in love first. They didn't rush like so many other fics, but they're friends first. And the fluff isn't painful at all... It's the rare type of fluff that makes you go "aw... that's SO SWEET!!" "_  
—Elie _(woot! Mission accomplished!)_  
  
"Now I'm gonna have a goofy grin all day because I've got the image of Harry in that…prom dress and being stared at by three guys while he is trying to explain to them just why he's in the dress XD"  
—Rayah Papaya _(heh…"fruit cup")_  
  
"-tear- She name the kitty 'Lily!' It's Lily the kitty..."  
—specialpastry _(isn't it just adorable? btw, love ur name!)_

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C H A P T E R F I F T E E N   
  
"Salami?"   
"Er…what?" Harry asked, staring up at Hagrid.   
"Do yeh want some salami?" Hagrid repeated.   
"Erm, Hagrid…you're standing at the back of the church, about to get married, and you're offering me _salami_?"  
"Well, yeah. It's tradition, like. A' least tha's what Molly says."  
"I think I'll pass," said Harry, pushing away the salami Hagrid held out to him.   
"More fer me, then," said Hagrid, shrugging, and he shoved the whole sausage in his mouth.   
  
Harry tried to turn away as Hagrid suppressed a burp, but found his urge to stare insurmountable. No longer was Hagrid's face hidden by a forest of bushy hair—his beard had been shaved away revealing the smooth and rosy skin below; his hair—tucked behind his ears in a sleek ponytail that dangled amid the shoulder blades. He was dressed in a large black tuxedo and bowtie, and looked more nervous and ecstatic than Harry had ever seen him.   
  
Desperately trying to flatten his own hair, Harry hoped he hadn't mussed himself too badly on the way here. He searched for a sort of reflective surface around the hallway of the massive cathedral but found none. Indeed, it would have appeared rather churlish if he left his position now—the room was rapidly filling with loads of people who entered from the side doors, many Harry knew and several he didn't.  
  
He observed the Weasleys trickle into a pew in the front row: Bill, talking quietly with his girlfriend Fleur Delacour; Charlie, laughing at something the red-haired girl after him had just said (Harry had never seen her before); Fred and George, in fine matching robes of luminous green; Mr. Weasley, beaming at his good fortune of acquiring a Muggle suit for the event; and Ginny, tucked in a sapphire dress and wrap, her hair floating in feathery clouds around her head and shoulders.   
  
"They look wonderful, don't they?" asked Mrs. Weasley from in front. She would be escorting Hagrid to the altar—always a mother, Molly Weasley.  
"Brilliant," Harry said to himself. "Absolutely brilliant."   
  
As he said this, a stream of five girls entered from the door on his right side, and aligned themselves next to their partners. Harry had never met anyone in this queue before, excluding Ron and Hermione, who were behind Hagrid and Mrs. Weasley.   
  
Trust Maxime to have extensive family.  
  
" 'Ello, 'Arry," greeted the girl next to him, fluttering her long eyelashes. He gave a small start—with jet-black hair to rival his own and vibrant blue eyes, he couldn't help but notice she was very pretty. He gulped. She was also about six-and-a-half feet tall.  
  
"Er, hello Christine."   
She laughed softly. "_Ma __tante _Maxime was right…you are very 'andsome,"   
Harry felt himself go red. Before he could say anything embarrassing, the large organ near the altar began to play a wedding march. The notes sounded like phoenix song.   
"_Oh lá lá, __quel musique très __belle!_" said Christine dreamily.   
"Mmm," Harry replied, wishing he understood French. The pair in front of them had linked arms. Harry offered his own to Christine, who transferred her bouquet to the other hand and took his arm graciously. She lifted the skirt of her golden dress, brushed a red rose into place, and elegantly raised herself.  
  
They waited until the couple ahead of them was six paces away, and began a slow walk down the aisle. Harry felt his insides burn painfully, and kept his eyes fixed on his feet. Christine, however, beamed merrily and inclined her head towards numerous people. It was with great relief he reached the altar and parted from her to stand near Hagrid. Fred and George caught his eye and mouthed, "poor ickle short Harry" between peals of silent laughter.  
  
All heads in the cathedral swiveled as one to watch Maxime be escorted down the red-velveted aisle by a very regal-looking woman. Harry supposed her to be Maxime's mother—they shared the same beaky nose and were clearly both giantesses.   
  
Olympe Maxime was dressed in a flowing white gown adorned with many crystals and pearls, her olive skin glowing between the capped sleeves that began past the collar bones and ended below the elbows. The dress's magnificent skirt and train reminded Harry of a circus tent—the white satin was interpolated by bands of beige fabric garlanded with golden stitching. A transparent veil trailed from the tiara in her hair to the floor, where it was promptly raised by a small boy and girl, and the beige petals scattered on the walkway matched the flowers in her bouquet.   
  
Madame Maxime, Olympe's mother, was clad in a Victorian-style dress of rose charmeuse and black chiffon, accented with gossamer tulle. It was off-the-shoulder with a translucent black layer over the skirt, which was lifted into peaks by pink roses. Ropes of black pearls encircled her neck, and hung to the neckline of the gown. Her hair was teased and curled and ornamented with a petite barrette swathed in black lace chiffon and an ebony ostrich feather.   
  
Harry pulled his eyes away from them to look at Hagrid's expression. He seemed close to tears, and was looking at Olympe as if she were the answer to his prayers, as if all his wishes had been granted.  
  
He suddenly remembered his own wish on the night of the party, blowing out the candles and hearing Sirius' voice in his ear:   
  
_I wish for something that will make all this—the war, the pain—a little bit easier._   
  
_Ginny_ had been his wish come true. He chanced a glance at her, and saw her staring almost wistfully at the bride. Was she imagining her own wedding? A flowing white dress, flowers everywhere, and the perfect husband waiting at the altar?   
  
It could never be him, of course. Harry wasn't perfect, and he knew it. He just thought Ginny had accepted that.   
  
Maxime had reached the altar by then, kissed her mother away, and accepted Hagrid's outstretched hand. Now the entire assembly watched the golden curtain hanging behind the couple, waiting for it to sway back.   
  
It did indeed, and out from it stepped the minister:  
  
Albus Dumbledore, dressed in splendid robes of black and gold.   
  
He twinkled down on them all, wearing a benign smile, before opening a small black folder in his hands.   
  
"Ladies, Gentleman, and Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of this man and this woman …"  
  
Harry found it hard to focus on the ceremony—his thoughts were distracted by both Ginny and Sirius. Was the love of Ginny's life right under her nose? Did Sirius feel the same while watching his best friend's wedding—wrong-footed and speculating?  
  
"May we have the rings, Mr. Potter?" Harry tucked a hand into his pocket and retrieved two golden, average-sized Muggle hoop earrings. Dumbledore took them from him, gave one to Hagrid, and read him the vows, which Hagrid reiterated:  
  
"This ring is a promise o' love, trust, and fidelity," he said, slipping it on Maxime's finger. Maxime repeated the act.   
  
Now, Harry was sure he had been lost in thought for the moment, because Dumbledore could _not_ have said what Harry just heard:  
  
"Do you, Harry James Potter, take Ginevra Molly Weasley to be your wife?"  
"I do," he whispered, without hesitation. And from the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny mouth the same.   
  
His heart beat wildly in his chest. Hermione had been right, Ginny _wasn't_ over him.  
  
Maybe there was hope for him yet…   
  
---  
  
"Wasn't that wonderful? Let's have a loud hand for the newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Rubeus Hagrid!"  
  
Wild applause filled the balmy summer evening as Hagrid kissed his bride's hand and they bowed. They had just completed their first dance as husband and wife, and were ready to begin the next—with the rest of the court.   
  
Harry walked arm-in-arm with Christine onto the dance floor, carefully avoiding looking at anyone else but her. He was slightly nervous—he had never danced with someone he didn't know before, and he was quite used to Ginny's style.   
  
Before he could think anything else unnerving, the music began to play. Harry took a deep breath, positioned his hands, and looked up. Christine's warm eyes smiled back at him and his knees went weak.   
  
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce a vivacious talent—" Seamus Finnigan, the emcee, said into the microphone on the stage over the band's playing, "for your hearing pleasure, Ms. Ginevra Weasley!"  
  
His heart gave a start. Ginny was _singing_? And so amazing was this thought that he ripped his eyes away from Christine and stood quite still on the floor. Christine nudged him slightly so that his feet began to move, but his gaze was still focused on the stage, where Ginny indeed was standing and clutching the microphone in a very artistic way.   
  
Harry and Ginny's eyes met, and he instantly knew:   
  
This song would be for him.   
  
**"I hope you never lose your sense of wonder."  
**  
_Harry wondered, all right. Every day, he wondered._  
  
**"You get your fill to eat, but always keep that hunger."**  
  
_Actually, he was kind of hungry…  
  
**"**_**May you never take one single breath for granted."  
**_  
He had learned the hard way to never do that**.  
  
"**_**God forbid love ever leave you empty handed."  
**_  
Ginny had given him so much…_  
  
She stared right at him and sang softly,  
  
**"I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.  
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens.  
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance.  
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance…"  
Ginny crooned with all her might,  
  
**** "I hope you daaaaaaaaaance,  
Hope you dance…"  
Harry began to read the hidden messages in her words…  
  
**** "I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance.  
Never settle for the path of least resistance.  
Livin' might mean takin' chances but they're worth takin'…"  
**_  
He had to keep fighting…he was a savior._  
  
** "Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth makin'  
Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter  
When you're close to sellin' out, reconsider…"  
  
**_Bans, "just friends", and dresses...wait. Were his attempts working?_  
  
** "Give the heavens more than just a passing glance."  
**_** Sirius****.**_  
  
** "And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance…  
I hope you daaaaaaaaaance,  
Hope you dance…  
Time is a wheel in constant motion…always rolling us along."  
  
"Tell me, who wants to look back on their years and wonder, where those years have gone?"  
**_  
Harry wasn't going to waste his years**.**_  
  
** "I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.  
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens.  
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance.  
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance…"  
Ginny took a breath and smiled at Harry****.   
  
"Daaaaaaaaance.  
I hope you dance…"   
She faded away into the instrumental ending of the song, and as soon as the music ended, Harry was the first to lead the standing ovation****.   
Ginny beamed and blushed and took her bows, and just as she was stepping off the stage straight towards Harry****…  
Christine seized Harry by the shoulders, whipped him round, and kissed him****.**

**

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**

**a/n: dum dum dum!!! And the plot thickens!  
  
well fans, I think I've found this story's anthem! Did you like the song? It's called   
_"I Hope You Dance" by Lee Ann Womack_. I highly suggest you listen to it, it's beautiful.   
  
only two chapters to go!  
  
Review b/c HiPa Loves You! (p.s. don't kill me 4 the format and random bolding...durn quickedit!)**


	16. Angled Towards the Sky

a/n: OMG I am really sorry... it's been a very long while, but right now we're moving and cleaning both houses (old and new), and I'm babysitting as well as doing band camp at the moment. Worst of all, this chapter was done earlier, but my floppy corrupted on me and I couldn't update! Grr! Well, now that I've vented and am down on both knees begging forgiveness, I hope you are all still interested! Enjoy!

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** C H A P T E R S I X T E E N   
** Harry's eyes were wide open, his whole body seized up—Christine's hands still firmly gripping his shoulders as Ginny stalked up to them. Before she could attack Christine, however, a boy ripped Harry and Christine apart.   
  
He edgily shoved a shock of russet hair out of his eyes. "_Zut_, Christine! _Je__ ne sais pas au faire avec toi!_"  
"You do not know what to do with _me_, Jacque? I can't believe you 'eft me for dat _skank_ Isabelle!"  
Jacque looked bewildered. "Is theese what this is about? Christine—Isabelle est _mon__ cousine_!"  
"Oh, really Jacque?!" Christine cried gleefully, looping an arm through his. "I'm so sorry…"   
And they walked off without giving Harry or Ginny a second glance.  
  
Harry turned to Ginny just in time—she was about to sprint after them, a fierce scowl on her face.  
  
"Gerroff, Harry," she said, struggling against his grip round her waist. "What a little—ooh, I'll _have_ her for that…"  
  
"Ginny!" said Harry weakly, shifting her into a dancing position; people on the floor were starting to stare at them.   
Ginny impatiently fitted herself against Harry for a rumba to appease the crowd.  
"I can't believe she would do that," raged Ginny, "just to even the score with her prat of a boyfriend…"  
  
"So you're not mad about the kiss?" he asked cautiously.   
"Of course I am!" she replied indignantly. "I know it meant nothing to her! It was a ruse for _Jacque_ to come crawling back! And she _used you_ Harry! Doesn't that upset you?"  
"I'm not all that fussed, to be honest," he muttered after an elderly man and woman stopped in to commend Ginny for her performance. "It didn't feel like anything we had…"  
Ginny dipped back, her hair falling across Harry's arm. He watched the smooth column of her neck coil upward as she rose, surprise in her eyes.   
  
"Did it feel like flying, what we had?"  
"Yeah," agreed Harry, reminiscing.   
  
"Harry," Ginny sighed, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being scared about this…about us. The truth is, I want to be with you. This feels right, no matter how much I lie to myself about it. And if loving you feels this right, this good, then nothing will stop me from doing it.   
"I know there will be risks, but if you're willing to face them…then so am I."   
  
The song ended, and Ginny pulled back, dabbing her eyes. Harry slipped a strand of hair behind her ear.   
"C'mon, let's go get a drink," he said, offering her his arm.   
  
---  
  
Ginny claimed two chairs at the table with Ron and Hermione as Harry fetched the punch. Ron was scowling about something, and Hermione was looking peeved. He extended his hand to her without looking and she took it, letting Ron guide her to the dance floor.   
  
The night was really falling upon them now, causing the lanterns on each table to flicker shadows around the party's small clearing. Harry studied Ginny in the light; she caught him at it and abruptly set down her glass.   
  
"Good things don't happen to me often, and when they do, I get scared." She willed him to read her mind, to understand.   
  
And he did. Of course he did.   
  
"Did you consider Tom to be a good thing?" he asked.  
"At the time, yes," she admitted, biting her lip. "He understood me like no one else, was the one friend I could always count on to never judge me by my face, my status, my last name.   
"And I guess I still do consider him to be a good thing. For what does not kill us makes us stronger," Ginny finished, smiling shrewdly and looking into his eyes.   
  
Without warning, Harry heard Ginny's voice clear in his head, as if she was whispering in his ear.  
  
_"No one's ever understood me like you, Tom…It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket….I'm pale and not myself….R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over…"  
  
Ginny lay flat on her back, deathly pale on a cold stone floor…  
  
_ A loud, shuddering gasp escaped him. He looked back at Ginny, whose watery eyes were lowered to the table.  
  
"How…how did you _do_ that?"  
"I really don't know," she sighed, her lower lip quivering, and for a moment in the firelight, she looked almost twelve years old again. "I think I have a gift…I think I might be…clairvoyant…or something." She winced at how melodramatic the words sounded.   
  
"So that's why you've been able to control stuff without a wand!"  
"Yeah…I've kind of gotten the hang of it."  
"So you can get in my head. Can you…read my thoughts?" he questioned, a bit worriedly.   
"Sometimes…just bits of them, though. It comes and goes." She still had not raised her head. Harry reached across the table and lifted her chin with his finger.  
  
"You said that night made you stronger. How?"  
  
_"__Ron!" Harry yelled, speeding up. "Ginny's okay! I've got her!"…. "You saved her! You saved her! _How_ did you do it?"_  
  
"It was you," she said simply, scooting over a chair so they were sitting next to each other. "You made me believe that even after all the deceit Tom put me through, there was still some good in the world. You saved me, Harry."  
  
He blushed. "You saved me, too. You're the only one who refused to let me fall, even when I tried to throw myself."  
  
"Let me thank you," she whispered, and kissed him sweetly. He grinned against her lips.   
"I could _definitely_ get used to this system of gratitude."   
  
"Oh, _pardon_! I deedn't know you 'ere the type for sloppy secon's, Gin-knee," said a honeyed voice behind them.   
  
"Christine," replied Ginny, with as much dignity as she could muster.   
"Potter," acknowledged the tall boy.  
"Jacque," sneered Harry.  
  
"I do not know why you are fooling yourself, Gin-knee," simpered Christine. "Why would the most 'amous boy on Earth want a little notsing like you, when he could 'ave someone like _moi_?  
  
"She is _not_ nothing!" Harry roared. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me!"  
  
"You base your beauty on your face, Christine," Ginny spat, placing a soothing arm on Harry's. "But Harry sees the soul within."  
"You can see it in her dance," Harry supplied viciously. "You're concerned about looking good, Christine—Ginny's concerned about feeling good."  
  
"Enough cheet-chat," demanded Jacque. "Prove it. Take it to zee floor."  
  
Harry got up out of his chair and roughly shoved it aside. He stretched out a hand to Ginny, who poised her legs like a ballerina and lifted herself out of her seat. Jacque and Christine were already ahead of them.   
  
"If their noses stick up anymore they might inhale each other," Ginny muttered.  
  
Harry laughed. Things were about to get dirty.  
  
---  
  
Fred and George Weasley were stunned. Completely befuddled, to be precise. Their DJ-ing abilities were being put to the test.   
  
_"Pull out all zee stops," murmured a boy as he passed them a wad of French currency._  
  
There was a knot of people surrounding Ginny and Harry, Christine and that boy, swaying to the music as they watched the two couples dance.   
  
No, perhaps dance was the wrong term—it was more of a…a war….Yes, _a war on the floor_.   
  
Ron sidled up to the music equipment, one hand in his pocket, the other around Hermione's waist. "So, you want in on the action, or what?"  
  
"Ten Galleons on Harry and Ginny to _massacre_ them."  
  
---  
  
Harry's fringe clung to all sides of his face, flat and damp with sweat. Fred and George were switching up the beats so rapidly—he had never danced so hard in his life. But it was all worth it, especially to see Ginny move.   
  
She and Christine had their backs to their partners, grasping the hems of their dresses above knee-height and swishing them from side to side to reveal the fancy footwork below. The swinging tune shifted to mambo—Harry took Ginny's hand and let her twirl. Jacque had grabbed Christine round the middle, allowing her to cartwheel backwards.   
  
Next techno, then samba, then rock—  
  
Then a fast tango. Harry's kind of music.   
  
The mob around them was on fire, clearly impressed with the efforts of the rivals. Christine and Jacque had gone into a traditional sort of step, while Ginny took a deep breath, swung her leg upward, and rested it on top of Harry's collar bone.   
  
He gripped her ankle and began to turn slowly, guiding Ginny's foot all the while. The crowd hooted its approval. And very suddenly, her foot hit the floor—Harry and Ginny swept Jacque and Christine apart, pounding out footwork. They seemed too stunned to react.   
  
Just before the music ended, they twirled the two Frenchmen away, and gathered into a pose: One of Ginny's arms wound around his neck, the other extended to the side; Harry, one arm around her waist, the other supporting two legs—one horizontal, the other angled towards the sky.   
  
Celebratory whoops filled the air as Harry let Ginny down gently and they took their bows. He kissed her hand, not at all fazed as Christine and Jacque spat bitterly on the ground before them.   
  
Watching the throng trickle away, Ginny intertwined her fingers with Harry's. "You did it. You found your escape."  
  
"Yeah," he agreed. "I found you."  
  
And, angled towards the sky, they tilted back and kissed.  
  
--_Fin_--

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a/n: well, so ends the actual story. Epilogue soon to come, which is about Ginny's Quidditch tryout. Thank you all SO MUCH for putting up with my sporadic updating—that's life. I hope I have made reading this story worth it.   
  
_Muchos__ besos,_  
  
HiSpAnIc PaNiC


	17. EPILOGUE: Our Song

A/n: alas, the end…

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** E P I L O G U E  
  
**Ginny clutched the handle of her broomstick—a hand-me-down from _the _George Weasley—firmly between two palms. She looked up at the evening sky, shot with pale pinks and golds, disappearing beyond the Quidditch pitch, and took a deep breath. The mounted broom eased smoothly upward, amid both sets of goal posts as Ginny's braids flew out behind her. Taking her position, she closed her eyes and sighed.  
  
"Not nervous, are you?" asked a teasing voice, from beneath a mass of jet-black hair.  
"Of course not," she replied, tossing a braid over her shoulder and smiling. "Especially since the captain _may_ be biased in my favor."  
Harry Potter laughed, waggling a finger at her. "Ah ah ah, I am strictly impartial when it comes to this team. Gryffindor doesn't take just anyone."  
"But I'm not just anyone," Ginny said, blinking big brown eyes faux-innocently.  
A small scarlet tinge kissed Harry's cheeks. "I know," he muttered, and, rather daringly, leaned across midair to tug on her pigtails. "Good luck," he added, soaring towards the stands.  
  
Ron and Hermione were nestled together there, talking quietly. He dismounted and joined them as the new aspirants took off for warm-up flights.   
"I thought you two were here to supervise," he said sternly, nodding at their prefect badges but grinning a bit. "Maybe _you're_ going to need the chaperones instead."  
Ron and Hermione shared a glance before looking back at him.  
"Sod off, Harry," said Hermione cheerfully.  
Harry feigned a jaw-drop; Hermione turned to Ron and whispered, "Did I say that right?"  
"I think you've been a bad influence on her," Harry said, throwing Ron his Cleansweep. "C'mon, Chaser tryouts..."  
  
---  
  
"Ha ha, Gin, better try again," taunted Ron, tossing the Quaffle back into play. It was caught by Katie Bell, who threw it to Natalie McDonald. "_Look alive_, Weasley," Katie demanded.  
  
_Get a grip, Ginny_, she thought, absentmindedly ducking a Bludger.  
"Ginny!" called Natalie, chucking the ball at her. Ginny caught it, swerved between two other Chasers in the scrimmage, and came face-to-face with Ron. She faked a left and aimed for the center post.  
  
"You got me!" Ron yelled, stunned. He glared at Hermione, who was cheering from the stands. The redhead seemed to be deciding whether lobbing a Quaffle at his girlfriend would be worth it.  
"Back into play, come on now," said Harry, making notes on a clipboard in almost an Umbridge-like fashion.  
Ron stuck out his tongue at Hermione and let Katie have the ball, who passed to Natalie, who…was immediately winded by Beater Andrew Kirke.  
  
"Time out!" Harry exasperatedly called, blowing the whistle around his neck. All players zoomed back to earth, circling a pale Natalie.  
"Are you alright?" he asked urgently.  
She nodded determinedly, attempting to use her broomstick as a crutch. However, her legs would not support her, and she stumbled into Jack Sloper's arms.  
  
"Harry, she's can't play like that," said Hermione anxiously, peering over his shoulder.  
"Yeah," he gruffly agreed. "Someone take her to the hospital wing, then…"  
"I will!" volunteered every male huddled around her. Her weak smile was still very attractive (along with the rest of her), even if she was in pain.  
  
"Lovely," Hermione muttered, watching the throng of boys lead Natalie away. "Ron, _get back here!_"  
"Zonko!" cried Katie happily, spotting the Weasley twins' owl and running after it.  
The pitch, excluding Harry and Ginny, was now completely vacant.  
"Now I know why Katie passed up the captaincy," he groused, gazing skyward. A drizzle of rain hit him full in the face; Ginny giggled.  
  
"Think it's funny, do you?" Harry inquired, looking at her. She had her eyes closed and her head thrown back happily, arms spread wide to welcome the rain.  
"Yes," she replied, clearly content, and Harry's cantankerous demeanor softened. He opened his mouth to say something, but Ginny had mounted her broom and was hovering above him.  
"It's beautiful up here. Wanna see?" She outstretched her arm to him. He took it and allowed her to take him aloft.  
"See? Isn't it beautiful?" Harry gazed at her, the beads of a September storm clinging to her hair and eyelashes, molding her clothes to her body.  
  
"Yeah…you are…" he replied, tilting her chin and leaning in.  
  
He nearly fell off the broom when she pulled away.  
  
"Harry," she began, grasping his hand, "I…I feel like I love you, I really do…but…"  
_I need a commitment_.  
"You need a commitment, right?" he said. She blinked.  
"How did you know? I didn't send you that…"  
"Lucky guess," he shrugged. "Truth is, I've been feeling the same way, but I didn't know how to tell you…"  
They listened to the steady patter of the rain for a moment, then…  
  
"Are we…together, then?" Ginny asked hesitantly.  
Harry said nothing, but reached beneath his T-shirt to pull out a silver chain. He removed it and coiled it into her palm.  
"Lupin said it was my mum's," he said quietly. "And I want you to have it."  
Ginny gasped, gazing at the ring on the end of the chain. In the center of the emerald stone, a small carved, white lily glistened.  
  
"It's beautiful, Harry…but I can't…"  
"Please?" He didn't wait for a reply, but fastened it around her neck. "This way…no matter what happens…I'll always be with you."  
"Harry, don't say things like that…you'll be alright."  
"I'll be alright for as long as I live…as long as I have you."  
  
Ginny's eye glistened with tears. She did _not_ like the subject of this conversation.  
"Please don't say those things," she pleaded, fingering the necklace.  
"Please…be strong, Ginny. I don't like to think about these things, either, but what's coming will come, and we have to meet it when we does."  
  
She gave him a watery smile. "Look at you, fighting the good fight."  
"Look at you, being brave and sweet enough to fight it alongside me."  
  
Harry flushed again as Ginny kissed his cheek and nuzzled into his shoulder. "So, are we together, or what?"  
"If you're asking if we're romantically involved, then yes. If you're asking if I'll protect you, then definitely. If you're asking if I love you, then, of course, for all eternity. I look into your eyes and it's like I see what I've been missing for so long."  
  
"Me too," she said softly, meeting her lips with his. "Me, too."  
---  
  
"I take it I'm on the team, then?" Ginny said a while later, soaking wet and on solid ground.  
"If these are the kind of training sessions you offer, naturally."  
"How is it you always know the perfect thing to say to me?"  
"How is it I've found the perfect thing right in front of me?"  
  
"Oh, you," Ginny laughed, shoving his arm. Harry caught her fingers between his, smiling as the storm above them began to pound vociferously.  
  
"I think I've found our song."  
  
And as a loud thunderclap shattered the air, they both knew he was right.  
  
_—Fin—_

* * *

a/n: hope I caused the romantically inclined to shed a few tears on this one. Thank you so very much, everyone, for being true-blue readers and bringing happiness to my life with your wonderful reviews. I hope each of you takes something away from this story—a sort of message or just a general feeling of joy—and that everyone is satisfied with the conclusion.  
  
Honorary mentions to the extraordinary Snake Eyes Hannah, cherryblossom08, JamieBell, milky way bar, Luna Lovegood 2, Nightwing 509, Carmel March, Padfootlover719, and Rayah Papaya for giving me the drive to complete a chaptered fic of mine for the first time ever! Thank you for the inspiration, praise, and demand of updates. You rock!  
  
::sniff::   
  
Love always,  
HiSpAniC PaNic—August 2004 


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